


just god stomping his big ol' feet

by Poe



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern: No Powers, Apocalypse, Cat adoption, End of the World, First Time, Fluff and Angst, I mean the world ends so there's that, M/M, Panic Attacks, Pick your own ending - stop reading at 27 or read chapter 28 for an alternative, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, all the sex things, reuploaded
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-02
Updated: 2018-01-02
Packaged: 2019-02-27 07:01:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 28
Words: 33,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13243002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Poe/pseuds/Poe
Summary: The world is ending in fourteen days. And Steve Rogers has sort of resigned himself to that. Sure, he's going to die a virgin, watching nature documentaries, but then, there are worse ways to go.Until Bucky Barnes literally falls into his life.They have fourteen days, and suddenly there's not enough time. Fourteen days to fall in love, to live, unashamedly, for the first time.As the days count down, they fall deeper and deeper into each other. The world ending is inevitable, but Steve and Bucky?Well, their story is rather more unlikely.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CaliFornia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaliFornia/gifts).



**FOURTEEN DAYS UNTIL THE END OF THE WORLD**

 

                Steve focussed on the television, the scrolling bar across the bottom of the screen unavoidable. _Fourteen days until the end of the world_. And a box above that with a ticking countdown. It was on every channel, there was no avoiding it. He lifted the remote and pressed subtitles. The black bar with white writing covered the vivid red well enough, and Steve settled back to watch, god, what was he even watching? Something to do with Yellowstone National Park, apparently. Outdated enough that super volcanos were still considered a threat. He rolled his eyes. Meteors, on the other hand –

                “Fuck!” A curse came from outside his window. Steve looked over to see a lump of man collapsed on the fire escape, looking like he’d fallen from a couple of floors up. Steve stood, his joints protesting, and made his way towards the window. The man outside caught his eye and smiled apologetically. He was handsome in a fifties movie star sort of a way, though his hair was long and he appeared to be in his pyjamas. Steve struggled with the latch of the window, before tugging it upwards. The man looked vaguely surprised, like he’d expected Steve to leave him there. Closer now, Steve could see the man was clutching a worn teddy bear, with a navy blue peacoat with large red buttons. Okay then. Maybe a week or so ago, that would have been surprising. The world ending puts things into perspective, Steve guessed.

                “Hey kid.” The man said, looking Steve up and down. “Your parents in?”

                Okay, so Steve was short. The puberty fairies had apparently never blessed him. Nice to know that strangers still thought of him as a child though. Great. Really. Stupid attractive strangers with their stupid hair and teddy bears and oh, he was supposed to reply rather than, oh, he was sort of glaring. Control your face, Rogers.

                “No.” He said, as calmly as he could. The man cocked his head to the side.

                “Guardians? Baby sitter? Siblings?” He tried.

                “I’m twenty four.” Steve ground out.

                “Shit, really? Sorry, in my defence, you’re sort of – ”

                “Finish that sentence and I close the window.” Steve threatened.

                The man mimed pulling a zipper closed over his mouth. Then thought better of it.

                “I do actually need to ask you a favour. Can I come in? Only my boyfriend – ex-boyfriend I should say, definitely ex, has sort of kicked me out of my apartment and I could really do with a place to crash.”

                “And you thought the best plan of action was to fall onto my fire escape, or were you going to ask the entire block until you found someone who wasn’t a murderer?” Steve asked, quirking an eyebrow.

                “Are _you_ a murderer?” The man asked.

                “Not yet. I could be persuaded.” Steve replied, a smile tugging at his lips.

                “You wound me. Got a big mouth on you for a little punk.”

                “I’m closing the window.” Steve moved to slide the window down.

                “Woah, woah, wait. Okay. Sorry. I feel like we got off on the wrong foot. My name’s Bucky. Erm. Please let me in?” The man implored.

                Steve held out a hand, and the man – Bucky – looked at it before shaking it.

                “I’m Steve. Steve Rogers. Nice to meet you, Bucky.” He said, a genuine smile on his face. Bucky looked hopeful.

                “So I can come in?” He asked.

                “I don’t know, _can_ you?” Steve snarked back before he could help himself.

                “Oh, do not start with me, punk. I have not had the best day.” Bucky said, and swung his legs round so they dangled through Steve’s window and then hoisted himself down into Steve’s living room. He wobbled, grabbing Steve’s shoulder, nearly taking the smaller man down with him, before catching his balance. He looked around Steve’s apartment, the artwork tacked to the walls, the wind-up gramophone in the corner, the small beat-up kitchen and dining table complete with original woodworm, and then finally at the television.

                “Wolves, huh? Guess they’re fucked.” Bucky commented.

                “I think we’re all fucked these days.” Steve replied.

                “Huh.” Bucky shrugged, before heading towards the couch. He flopped down onto it. Steve watched him in disbelief.

                “Make yourself at home, by all means.” He commented. Bucky gave him a two fingered salute.

                “Aye, aye Captain.”

                Steve huffed out a sigh, before closing the window and locking it again. Without anything better to do, he headed over to the couch, which Bucky took up an alarming amount of, and sat down at the far end, drawing his knees up to rest his chin on them.

                “What’s with the subtitles? You deaf?” Bucky asked.

                Steve shrugged.

                “Partially, actually. But mostly they’re to cover up the, you know.” He made a scrolling gesture with his hands.

                “Ohh, the doomsday countdown. Yeah. I’ve been living off DVDs for the last week. Made a good dent in Buffy before Brock kicked me out. Fuck him.” Bucky ran a hand through his hair, making himself look more rumpled than ever. He seemed to realise he was still holding the bear.

                “Oh. How rude of me. This is Bucky Bear. Bucky Bear, this is Steve. He’s very kindly offered to take us in for the remainder of the apocalypse.” He made the bear wave at Steve.

                “Wait, what?” Steve spluttered. 

                “Might as well. I can sleep on the couch. You’re not going to make me knock on everyone’s windows are you?” Bucky pouted.

                “You can’t just invite yourself over! You’re not five! I don’t even know you.” Steve protested.

                “Consider me your friend for the end of the world. Now you don’t have to die alone.” Bucky offered.

                “Wasn’t going to die alone.” Steve muttered.

                “Yeah, ‘cos this place just screams that you have a steady girlfriend. Or… boyfriend?” Bucky raised his brows, challenging Steve.

                “Fine. And so you can stop fishing. No boyfriend. No girlfriend. No _friends_ of any gender.” Steve said exasperated.

                “So, that’d make you single.” Bucky clarified.

                “Desperately, terminally so.”

                “Terminal sounds about right.” Bucky pointed out.

                “I am trying to forget about the end of the world, actually.” Steve said.

                “How’s that working out for you?” Bucky asked.

                “Shit. But it was worth a try.” Steve confessed.

                “So let’s do it.”

                “What.”

                “What what? Let’s pretend the world isn’t ending. You and me. Let’s just, not have the world end. In this apartment. This apartment is an apocalypse-free zone. No more television, no more countdowns, just DVDs and whatever hipster music you have.” Bucky proposed.

                “Are you serious?” Steve looked sceptical. “And my music isn’t hipster.”

                “I bet you a million dollars it is. But I am serious. Deadly.” Bucky confirmed.

                “Huh. Okay.” Steve held out his hand. Bucky looked at it.

                “Shake on it.” Steve said, nodding at his hand.

                “’kay punk.” They shook hands again, and Steve would swear the touch lingered a second or two too long. He internally shook himself, before getting up off the couch.

                “How far did you get into Buffy?” He asked, heading for his bookshelves.

                “Season four. Why? Oh, no way.” Bucky answered, and then grinned as Steve held up the boxset. “You are my god.”

                “Yeah, you say that now. Just because I’m providing you with, you know, housing, food and entertainment. Hey, I practically am your god.” Steve said, bending in front of the television to slide the DVD in.

                “Doesn’t take much to get you big-headed, does it?” Bucky commented.

                “You must bring it out of me. I’m normally very nice.” Steve slumped back onto the couch, his shoulder brushing Bucky’s.

                “You’re a damn punk.” Bucky said, jostling Steve’s shoulder. Steve pushed back.

                “So you’ve said. Shut up and watch your stupid vampire show.”

                “It’s not stupid, it’s got a lot of deep metaphorical – ” Bucky started. Steve kicked him.

                “Shutting up. Fine.”

                They sat in silence, watching demons being vanquished and Sarah Michelle Gellar being badass, until Bucky’s head fell onto Steve’s shoulder and he began letting out tiny snuffle snores. Steve looked down at the other man, at the shadow of his eyelashes on his cheeks, shuffled down a bit, letting his legs slide out in front of him, and closed his eyes too, the light of the next day dawning through the bare window.


	2. Chapter 2

**THIRTEEN DAYS UNTIL THE END OF THE WORLD**

                Steve shifted and opened one eye blearily. He was on the couch. And there was a strange man nuzzled into his neck.

                The events of last night slowly unfolded in his brain. Right. _Bucky_. Bucky snuffled into the hollow of Steve’s collar bone and Steve resisted the urge to push Bucky’s hair out of his closed eyes. Because that would be creepy.

                The television was showing the Buffy DVD title screen, the music looping over and over again. Steve turned his head slightly to look for the remote to mute it, accidentally jostling Bucky in the process. The dark haired man grunted, twisting closer into Steve.

                “Too damn early.” He muttered. Steve’s eyes flew to the clock. It was just past 1pm. That would explain the gnawing hunger. Bucky seemed intent on burrowing into Steve’s side, which would normally be great and all, but Steve, now aware of how damn hungry he was, needed food. With nothing else for it, he poked Bucky in the ribs.

                “The fuck, don’t!” A sleepy Bucky protested, jerking away. His eyes opened and rested on Steve.

                “Oh yeah.” He said. “Last night was a thing that happened.”

                “Apparently, yeah.” Steve said. Bucky straightened, cracking seemingly every vertebra in his spine as he did so, before rotating his shoulders seeking the same explosive noise.

                “I got drool on you, I’m sorry. Erm. I’ve forgotten your name. Sorry, last night was kinda a weird one for me.”

                “I’m Steve. And you’re Bucky. And you have drooled on me.” Steve stated. All of these things were true. There was a dark drool patch on his t-shirt where Bucky’s mouth had rested. Sighing, Steve pulled the shirt over his head, flinging it in the general direction of the washing machine.

                “Woah! Woah. No – no that before breakfast. You can’t just go around being topless. No. That’s not on.” Bucky protested and covered his eyes. “We don’t know each other well enough for me to have seen your nipples.”

                “Whatever, Bucky. I’m getting food. Anyway, you’ve been wearing pyjamas since you got here, I think we’re past any kind of sartorial rules at this stage.” He padded towards his small kitchen, leaving Bucky on the couch.

                “I like my pyjamas.” Bucky muttered, watching Steve go, the slight cant of his hips explained by the curve of his spine, that went slightly to the right around his lower back. It was sort of adorable. Bucky shook his head. Rubbed his eyes with the fists of his hands. He remembered the agreement now. No apocalypse talk. And apparently he’d moved himself in. Okay then.

                “I’m sorry about last night.” He called over to Steve. “I’m not normally so – that.”

                “It’s okay. People are strange these days.” Steve said easily. He was so skinny, Bucky wanted to feed him ice cream and possibly cookies and other sweet things. Also kinda wanted to trace the knobs of his spine and run his hands over those ribs, but yeah.

                “Your bedhead is ridiculous.” Bucky said instead. Steve paused, looked over at him.

                “Have you seen yourself? You look like you live in a dumpster. Hobo.” Steve replied.

                “Bathroom?” Bucky asked.

                “Through the bedroom. There should be a spare tooth brush in the drawer. You’re welcome to it.” Steve was mixing oatmeal together, so Bucky left him to it.

                Steve’s room was much like the living room, full of artwork, an easel in the corner, but with a strange number of potted plants sitting or hanging down every available surface. Light streamed in through the window, which Bucky supposed explained it. It was a nice day, sunny and clear, almost like any other day, really. His mental countdown began again and he closed his eyes, taking a steadying breath. Grounding himself, he exhaled, and then headed through to the small bathroom.

                He found the tooth brush easily enough, but that was no excuse not to root through the rest of the drawers. Cheap disposable razors and shaving cream, blue hair _dye (note to self: ask Steve about this later)_ , pink hair dye _(note to self: definitely ask Steve about this_ ), and ah, lube and condoms in the bottom drawer. So. That was a thing. Or things. Which Bucky was not going to obsess over. Because it was one thing to move into a man’s home and eat his food, quite another to develop an unhealthy crush. Especially nowadays. Though really, the end of the world is the perfect time for an unrequited crush, as rejection is definitely not the worst thing that could happen anymore. Hmm.

                He brushed his teeth, using Steve’s tooth paste, used Steve’s deodorant, ran Steve’s brush through his hair in a vain attempt to get it under control, splashed water on his face as though it would erase the permanent dark circles he had under his eyes, and then used the toilet. He washed his hands, and exited the bathroom, headed back to the living room.

                Steve was waiting with two bowls of steaming oatmeal.

                “I didn’t know if you take sugar in yours, so I didn’t put any in.” Steve said. Bucky shrugged.

                “Sugar me up.” He said, and watched as Steve poured two tea spoons of sugar into one bowl and mixed it in. He sidled up beside Steve to take the bowl from him, and settled himself at the table.

                “Your table has doodles on it.” He remarked. There were little biro characters etched into the wood of the table.

                “Yeah.” Steve said, around a mouth of oatmeal. “It’s sort of a thing I do.”

                “They’re cute. I guess you’re an artist?” Bucky asked.

                “Eh, graphic designer. Though currently unemployed. Obviously.” Steve said, obeying their weird no-apocalypse rule.

                “I’m on leave. Second tour. Permanent leave, apparently. Yeah, apparently my boyfriend, ex-boyfriend, wasn’t expecting me back. Turns out while I was away he kinda had other guys around.” Bucky said.

                “Oh, Bucky, I’m sorry.” Steve apologised.

                “Not your fault. Anyway, he was a total dick. It never felt like coming home when I was with him, you know? We were just two people sharing an apartment. Which I paid for. And he kicked me out of. Actually, what the hell is the deal with that?” Bucky shovelled in a spoonful of oatmeal angrily.

                “I’m still sorry though. You deserve better.” Steve said gently.

                “Punk, you have known me for how long? I’m fine. I’m content with my lot. Things coulda gone differently, yeah. But who knows? I coulda gone back out there and been blown up. At least this way I know what I’m getting.”

                “You want coffee?” Steve asked.

                “Nah. I’m kinda not feeling the caffeine high right now. I feel like wallowing. Oatmeal is good.”

                “How long are you planning on wallowing for?”

                “At most the next half an hour. Then I want to check out your music collection.”

                “Then wallow away, the couch is yours. I’ll be in the bedroom.” Steve said.

                Bucky raised an eyebrow.

                “Painting. Asshole.”

                “I saw the easel in there. And your many plants. What’s up with that?”

                “I like plants. I like keeping them alive. Makes me feel a little less utterly useless if I can keep something alive.”

                “I get that. In the army, it was all about keeping my men alive. Keeping each other alive. Keeping civilians alive. It was that sense of purpose, you know?”

                “Well, yeah, but I kinda feel yours was a little more meaningful than mine now.” Steve pouted.

                “Hush you. Purpose is always good. Anyway. I have finished my oatmeal. I will now commence wallowing.”

                “Okay, well, let me know when you’re done.” Steve said, taking the bowls and putting them in the sink, filling them to the brim with soapy water.

                He then made his way to the bedroom as Bucky threw himself dramatically onto the couch. As Steve was about to close the bedroom door, he heard Bucky protest.

                “Christ, your couch is uncomfortable. No way am I sleeping here tonight.”

                Steve closed the door. Resting his forehead against the bleached wood, he closed his eyes for a moment. Bucky was, well, a force of nature. An intrusion into the quiet life Steve had built for himself and the quiet death he’d expected. Suddenly, he was angry. Why had they never spoken sooner? They could have been, well, friends. Or more. And now it was too late.

                “Fuck.” Steve muttered to himself. He looked over at his plants.

                “Don’t you dare judge me. You’re plants. You don’t even have feelings.” He glared at them. Sighing, he made his way over to the easel. He had a few blank canvases left, in all honesty, probably more than he needed in the circumstances. He hoisted a fresh one up, and grabbed a pencil from the jam jar on the window sill. He began to sketch.


	3. Chapter 3

**THIRTEEN DAYS UNTIL THE END OF THE WORLD**

                “Steve! I’m done wallowing!” Bucky’s voice echoed through the apartment. Steve put down his pencil, looking at the work he’d done so far. Bucky’s face was etched into the lines of the piece, his stupid face with his ridiculously plump lips and wicked grin, the way his eyes made him look like he needed to sleep for a week, and his hot mess hair. He was made to be painted, Steve was sure of it. Designed for it.

                Steve turned the canvas around so Bucky wouldn’t see it if he came into the room. Steve wasn’t entirely sure why, there was little else to sketch around here and leaving the apartment felt risky at best, with moral compasses spinning recklessly outside, but he didn’t want Bucky to see. Like, then he’d have to admit that he didn’t mind the man living here. That actually he might have been the best thing to happen to Steve in a long time and ain’t that a kick in the teeth?

                Steve pulled on a shirt, having forgotten he was still without, and returned to the living room, to find Bucky still sprawled on the couch, one arm behind his head.

                “Aww, you put your nipples away.” Bucky remarked.

                “Yeah. You however, remain in your pyjamas.” Steve snarked back.

                “I reserve the right to do so until a suitable alternative appears. And I don’t think I’ll be able to squeeze into your clothes somehow, punk.”

                “Why’d you call me that?” Steve asked.

                “Just a name. I like nicknaming people. So sue me. You don’t like it?”

                “Nah, it’s okay, just, wondered.” Steve worried his lip a little.

                “So what’s the plan for today then?” Bucky asked. Steve glanced at the clock. It was just past 2pm.

                “Pretty sure you had some music snobbery lined up.” Steve remembered.

                “I’m not feeling it. I feel kinda bleh. I think I might be coming down with something.” Bucky waved a hand in the air vaguely.

                “How about we talk? I mean, if you’re going to live here, then I should probably know some stuff about you.” Steve suggested.

                “Sure, pull up a pew.” Bucky bent his legs up close to his body so Steve could scooch onto the couch, before plonking his legs down on Steve’s lap. The weight of them was not unpleasant, but Steve still squirmed.

                “You’re heavy.” He complained.

                “No, you’re just really, really tiny.” Bucky smiled. “What’s up with that, anyway?”

                “Just never grew, I guess. My mam always said, it’ll come, Stevie, it’ll come, but it never did. Always thought I’d be like one of those action heroes or something, all muscles and that, but nope. Just this.” He looked down at himself sadly.

                “Hey, it’s cool. Seriously. Steve. You look fine. I even like your weird spine thing.”

                Steve winced.

                “Yeah, I was going to get it corrected, but you know, money. It’s like a hundred grand or something. It doesn’t hurt so bad most of the time anyway.”

                “It’s cute. It hurts though? How come?”

                “’Cos all my weight is distributed wrong, so it all rests on the curve. If I get cold or just standing or sitting wrong can make it hurt. Does my neck in something awful too. Don’t know why.” Steve explained.

                “You need a massage.” Bucky suggested.

                Steve raised an eyebrow.

                “I’m good, thanks.”

                “Offer’s there.” Bucky said, enjoying the way Steve had gone slightly pink.

                “So, you have any family?” Steve asked, changing the subject completely.

                “A sister, Becca. She’s on her gap year. She’s in India. She tried to get back, but when they stopped the planes, well. I spoke to her, she said it’s okay. Just sucks I won’t be seeing her for a while. You?”

                Steve shook his head.

                “Never knew my dad, and my mammy died when I was young. Spent a while in foster homes, then moved here.”

                “My parents died too. Sucks. I was older though. Car crash. Apparently it was instant though. That’s something.”

                “Yeah.” Steve agreed. There was a beat.

                “Well this got really depressing.” Bucky commented into the silence. “Say something happy.”

                “Your feet are filthy.” Steve said. Bucky wiggled his bare feet.

                “Parkour at midnight down the fire escape, you know how it goes.”

                “Seriously, you need to shower. Hobo.”

                “Wanted to this morning, but didn’t know if you were saving your hot water. Seemed rude without your permission. I solemnly swear to shower before bed tonight. Oh. On that note. I am not sleeping on this thing tonight. What’s it even made of? Punk, did you fill your couch up with bricks?”

                “Firstly, no, it is made of couch stuff. Like most other couches. It’s just old, leave it alone. I’m hardly going to go buy a new one now. And secondly, where do you expect to sleep if not the couch?” Steve asked, looking put out.

                “Couch stuff. Right. Bricks. And I was sort of hoping we could share your bed? Hang on, don’t look at me like that. I mean it. Like a sleepover. No funny business.”

                “No funny business?” Steve asked.

                “I won’t touch your ass. Unless you want me to. You can even put up a pillow barricade. Hey, you blush a lot.”

                “I have a delicate complexion. It’s just the light in here. And it’s a hot day. Anyway. Yeah, fine. You can sleep in my bed. But only once you’ve washed your feet.”

                Bucky wiggled one grubby foot under Steve’s nose.

                “Eww, gross feet. Eww, Stevie, look at my gross feet. Aren’t they gross?”

                “Quit it.”

                Bucky stuck his tongue out.

 

*

 

                Steve’s shower was like heaven. There was no other word for it. It was ridiculously powerful and surprisingly roomy, and Steve had a bunch of weird smelling shampoo and shower gel and yes, Bucky had sniffed them all (and tasted a couple, instantly regretting that decision). He sang tunelessly safe in the knowledge that Steve couldn’t hear him. Steve was heating up a lasagne from the freezer, apparently his elderly neighbour had left him a supply of homemade food before she’d left to be with her son. So Bucky belted out ‘Shake It Off’ and shimmied under the spray, until he heard a knocking at the door. He froze, suddenly realising he was naked, wet and singing Taylor Swift and called out a cautious “Yes?”.

                “Dinner’s ready.” Steve called through. Bucky reluctantly turned the water off and reached for a towel. He grabbed another for his hair, tying it up into one of those towel mohawks (Becca had taught him how to do that) and quickly dried his body. There was nothing else for it, he had to put the pyjamas back on. He sniffed them. They didn’t smell, they’d only been fresh on the night before, so they’d do. He stepped out of the bathroom, and was hit with the aroma of tomato. He followed his nose through to the kitchen, where Steve was dishing up.

                “That smells amazing.” Bucky said, mouth already watering.

                “Mrs Wilson’s a good cook.” Steve smiled. “Hey, I just thought. She left me her key. Her son used to stay over sometimes. You and him probably wear the same size clothes, you want me to see if there’s anything that’ll fit you?”

                “Clothes later, food now.” Bucky said, making grabby hand gestures.

                Steve laid the plates down, laden with lasagne. Bucky grabbed a fork and dived in. After the first mouthful he let out a frankly obscene moan. Steve choked slightly and quickly chugged some water.

                “This is so good. Oh my god. I’ve died and gone to food heaven. Find me this woman. Bring her to me so I can lavish her with gifts.”

                “Bad luck, Buck. She’s in DC. But I guess we could try ringing her?”

                “That’d be a weird conversation. How would that even go? ‘The stranger who is living with me really likes your food?’”

                “Hey, she was always trying to set me up with her son, she’d be relieved I wasn’t on my own.” Steve said, over-casual.

                “You keep feeding me like this and you will definitely not be on your own. Though my heart belongs to this Mrs Wilson. You only get it by proxy.”

                “I am honoured to have your heart, Bucky.”

                “You oughta be. I don’t just give it away.”

                “Unless lasagne’s involved.”

                “Unless lasagne’s involved.” Bucky agreed.

 

*

 

                Steve hovered at the bedroom door. Bucky was already in bed, lying on his side, one arm crooked under his head. He looked over at Steve.

                “Look, I have built the Great Wall Of Pillows.” He gestured to the line of pillows that would separate them from one another in the bed. “Stop being a dork and get in here. It’s so cosy.”

                “ _Fine_.” Steve closed the bedroom door, shucked off his t-shirt and pants, leaving him in his boxers. Bucky gulped. The things he would do to that man. Bad thoughts. Think about something else. _Anything_ else.

                Steve was getting into bed, and Bucky willed himself to be cool. He could be cool. He was definitely not perving. Okay. Maybe a little. Steve seemed to be burrowing under the covers, until only the top of his head was visible. Like a woodland animal or something. Bucky found this adorable. Oh no.

                “Night Buck.” Steve’s voice came, muffled under the blankets.

                “Night Steve.” Bucky replied, turning to face the wall, willing his body to chill the fuck out, he was not a teenager, this was a purely platonic bed sharing exercise. He grit his teeth and tried to ignore the mental imagery going on in his brain. He opened his eyes and stared into the dim. He could just make out the pencil sketches tacked to the wall and he let his eyes track the lines until finally, finally, he fell asleep.


	4. Chapter 4

**TWELVE DAYS UNTIL THE END OF THE WORLD**

                Steve had woken himself up crying. It wasn’t the first time it had happened, after his mam had died it had happened a lot, but it was the first time it had happened since the world was ending. He sniffled and wiped a hand across his eyes. He shifted in the bed to look over at Bucky, who was curled up facing the wall. The Great Wall Of Pillows had not been breached. Their virtues both remained intact. Steve sniffed again.

                Self-pity, now that’s attractive.

                He pushed the blankets off himself carefully, so as not to wake Bucky, and padded through to the bathroom, shutting the door behind him quietly. He turned the shower on, listening to the thud of water and sank to the floor, head resting on crossed arms on his knees, and just let the sobs wrack through him for a few moments.

                He didn’t feel scared, as such. He just didn’t want to die. It was primal, animal, the desire to survive. And there was nothing he could do. So he cried.

                Finally, biting his lip, he shucked off his boxers and stepped into the shower. He raised his face to the showerhead, allowing the water to cleanse his face, for the tears to blend and be washed clean away. Without his lenses, he couldn’t see too clearly, so he knocked over a bottle of shampoo when he reached for the shower gel. Somehow, this seemed awful, and as it rolled to a stop by his right foot, he burst into tears again.

                _Get it together, Rogers._

                He washed quickly, before stepping out and rubbing himself down roughly, and then wrapping the towel around his waist, realising he’d brought no clean clothes with him. He picked up his old boxers with his toes, and flung them into the laundry basket. It’d never get done, but it was the thought that counted.

                He made his way back into the bedroom. Bucky was still asleep, though he’d rolled over and was facing into the room now. He looked perfect in sleep, his face relaxed and his lips slightly parted. Steve smiled sadly, and tried to open the squeaky underwear drawer as silently as possible. It let out a high pitched whine that set his teeth on edge, and he glanced over again at Bucky, who was still, thankfully, sound asleep.

                Steve dropped the towel and stepped into his fresh boxers. A cough came from the bed. Bucky was propped up on one elbow, looking his way. Steve squeaked and froze. He was a deer caught in the headlights of Bucky’s gaze, and the smirk that spread across Bucky’s face.

                “Now _there’s_ a sight to wake up to.” Bucky said, sleep catching his voice.

                “You were supposed to be asleep!” Steve said, voice slightly too high. Bucky shrugged one shoulder.

“I heard you rattling around in the shower. Gotta be more quiet punk. Kinda fell back asleep but yeah. I must say. If you put on a show for all your guests then yeah. Not bad at all.” His eyes raked appreciatively over Steve’s body. Steve felt himself blushing.

“Aww, Stevie. I’m sorry. I’m only messing with ya. I didn’t really see anything. Hey, I’ll show you mine if you like?”

                _Yes_. “No!” Steve cried a little too urgently. “I don’t want to see yours. Let’s just pretend this didn’t happen. I’m going to put on the rest of my clothes and you’re going to face the wall. Pervert.”

                “You’re no fun in the mornings.” Bucky pouted, but turned to face the wall all the same. Steve grabbed the first pair of jeans he could and a racerback that was technically too big for him but was so soft he loved it. The armholes gaped beneath his armpits and the hem fell almost to his knees. Finally, he grabbed his glasses off the bedside table. They were stupid thick framed hipster ones, because his prescription required them. No doubt Bucky would mock him mercilessly, but he kinda hoped he would. It would be a distraction at least.

                “You can look now.” He said. Bucky turned around again.

                “I liked you better before.” He said sadly.

                “Yes, well, that’s neither here nor there.” Steve said, aware that he sounded outlandishly prudish. Bucky stretched, letting out another of his ridiculous groans. Steve bit his tongue.

                “Ouch.” He muttered to himself.

                “What?” Bucky said, fixing him with a gaze.

                “Nothing. Breakfast?” Steve asked quickly.

                “In a mo. Bathroom. Shower. All those good things.” Bucky gestured to the bathroom door. Steve nodded, and left the room.

                Bucky exhaled violently, and stared down at his crotch. Beneath the blankets his pyjamas were tented to the extreme, and he half waddled to the bathroom, thankful Steve couldn’t see him, wrenched off his clothes, and stepped under the shower spray which was thankfully still warmed up. He didn’t have time to feel guilty as he wrapped his hand around his cock, remembering the sight of Steve completely naked, the way Steve’s skin moved, and it was Steve’s hand on him now, and he was murmuring Steve’s name under his breath as he came, hard and fast, washed away by the heavy spray of the shower. Okay, now he felt guilty. He really was a pervert. This was simply not on.

                Grumpy with himself, he towelled off, put his pyjamas back on, and padded through to the living room. Steve was halfway through a bowl of cereal, and there was another set out with a jug of milk beside it opposite him. Bucky sank gratefully down into the chair.

                “I’m really sorry, punk. I shouldn’t have looked.” He said. Steve flushed red, but shrugged.

                “Should be honoured, first time anyone has in a long time.” He said calmly. Bucky’s brain stuttered. He looked at Steve, his blond hair rumpled from the shower, his eyelashes so long for some reason his mind had images of ladybugs sitting on them having afternoon tea, the perfect curve of Steve’s mouth. How was Steve not getting laid constantly?

                “Really?” He said, trying to pour his milk like a functioning human being.

                “Really really.” Steve sighed. “You know, I didn’t want to die a virgin, but it’s looking increasingly likely.”

                Bucky choked on a mouthful of cereal and tried desperately to swallow without launching into a massive coughing fit. _What_.

                “We should get you some new clothes today.” Steve said out of nowhere. “I have the key to Mrs Wilson’s apartment, she said I could go over if I needed anything. Get you some of Sam’s clothes.”

                “That’d be good.” Bucky said strangled.

                Steve smiled.

                “I’m really glad you’re here, Buck.” Steve said, looking into Bucky’s eyes. Steve’s eyes were so damn blue, Bucky realised. If he lent across right now he could kiss the blond. But then Steve was pushing his chair back and taking his bowl to the sink. Bucky looked down at his cereal, already going soggy. He scooped up the last few spoonfuls despondently. There were times when Steve seemed almost in reach, and then the moment passed. And, a small, traitorous part of Bucky’s brain reminded him, Steve could do better than Bucky. Bucky huffed out a small sigh of frustration. Steve looked over.

                “You okay?”

                “Just stuff.” Bucky replied.

                _Stuff_ was acceptable these days. _Stuff_ covered a multitude of sins. _Stuff_ , sadly, did not begin to explain how Bucky Barnes was falling head first for Steve Rogers.


	5. Chapter 5

**TWELVE DAYS UNTIL THE END OF THE WORLD**

                Mrs Wilson’s apartment was literally across the hall from Steve’s, so they made their way quickly over. Steve was a bit reticent about letting Bucky in, but shrugged it off. Mrs Wilson would have liked Bucky.

                Bucky poured over Mrs Wilson’s photographs and the framed embroidery she had on her walls whilst Steve headed to the spare bedroom. After a bit of searching, he found the cupboard containing Sam’s clothes. He held a t-shirt out in front of him. It was grey, nondescript really, but it should fit Bucky. There were a few more, in greens and blacks, so Steve grabbed them all, as well as some joggers and a pair of trainers. His eye caught and he found a pack of new unopened boxers, so he grabbed that too.

                He came out of the room with his bundle to find Bucky examining the bookshelves. Bucky looked up at Steve and took some of the clothing from him.

                “Hey, thanks.” He said, before kneeling back down again. He pulled out a couple of books. “You think she’d mind if I borrowed these?”

                Steve looked at the titles, they were poetry anthologies. He shook his head.

                “I don’t think she’d mind, Buck. Long as you take care of them.”

                Bucky grabbed a couple more books, and they were ready to leave. On locking the door, Steve felt Bucky pause beside him.

                “Erm, Steve?” Bucky said. Steve locked the door and turned. _Ah_. “You don’t have a cat, do you?”

                Outside Steve’s door was a cat carrier, a bag of cat litter and a bag of dry cat food. Scrawled on Steve’s door in black sharpie was the word ‘Sorry’. The cat carrier mewed. Bucky ran for the stairs, but there was nobody around. They’d dumped the cat and ran.

                Steve bent to look in the carrier, and found a ginger and white cat there, not a kitten by any means, a green eyed short hair with a pink collar. The cat mewed again.

                “Let’s get you inside.” Steve said, adjusting the clothing he was carrying to pick up the carrier. Bucky took the food and litter.

                Once they were inside, Steve dumped the clothes on the table and set the carrier on the floor. He opened the door and wiggled his fingers at the cat, making small reassuring noises. The cat shied backwards, arching against the back of the carrier. Bucky watched, before nudging Steve out of the way.

                “Here, let me try. My ma always said I had a way with animals.” He held out a hand to the cat, completely still. The cat nosed at it, before tentatively headbutting it. Bucky drew his hand slowly out into the room and the cat followed. Once it was out, Bucky gently shut the carrier door with one hand, and muttering to the cat all the time, ran his other hand down its back. The cat gazed at him, green eyes wide. He checked the collar.

                “She’s called Martha.” He said to Steve, sounding sad. He stroked the cat again, and this time Martha let out a rumbling purr. “There you go, good girl.” Bucky murmured. Steve watched, heartbroken. He knew people had been abandoning their animals, had heard the dog fights in the streets. But watching Bucky with the cat, who was now rubbing against his ankles, he couldn’t understand it.

                “Steve, have you got anything she could use for a tray?” Bucky asked. Steve thought for a moment.

                “Yeah, I’ve got a paint tray from when I last painted my bedroom. If I can just find it.” Steve made to stand. Martha shrunk back.

                “Hey, hey, easy there dollface. “ Bucky murmured. “Slow movements, Stevie, just ‘til she gets used to us.” Steve slowly made his way to his room, and lowered himself onto his stomach to look under the bed. Shifting a few boxes, he found the paint tray, and brought it back through. Bucky was taking two bowls from the cupboard.

                “Hope this is okay? One for food, one for water?” He asked Steve. Steve nodded. Bucky filled one bowl with the dry food, and set it on the floor next to the wall. He filled the other bowl with water and set it down beside the food. “You’ll want to put the tray near the window, crack the window open a bit. It won’t be pleasant but - ”

                Steve was already fiddling with the litter bag to open it.

                “We couldn’t just leave her, I know Buck. I would never have suggested it.” Steve filled the paint tray with litter and set it underneath the window, and cracked the window as Bucky had suggested. Martha padded towards the food bowl, and began crunching her way through it.

                “Somebody was hungry.” Bucky observed smiling.

                “Yeah.” Steve agreed, watching, a sad smile tugging at his lips.

                “Hey, punk. Cheer up.” Bucky said, walking over to Steve. He squeezed Steve’s hand, a gesture that momentarily confused Steve, before letting go just as suddenly. “She’s got us now. And we’ve got her.”

                “Yeah.” Steve said. He wondered if he could get Bucky to squeeze his hand again. Instead, Bucky leant his shoulder against Steve’s.

                “I always wanted another cat.” Bucky said, sounding bemused. “It’s just a shame it had to be like this.” They both watched as Martha dipped her paw in the water bowl, and then shook it, splashing droplets onto the wooden floor.

                “Shoulda put newspaper down.” Bucky said ruefully. Steve smiled then. Bucky lent a little more, the backs of their hands touching. Steve could reach out, hook a finger round Bucky’s, pull him round and –

                “Clothes! Master has presented Dobby with clothes!” Bucky crowed abruptly. He walked carefully back to the table, careful not to disturb Martha, who was happily playing in the water, and examined the clothes Steve had found.

                “Looks like they’ll fit. Oh, and underwear too. You do spoil me so.”

                “Don’t I just?” Steve smiled.

                “You introduce Martha to Bucky Bear, I’m going to go get changed.” Bucky grabbed an armful of clothing and disappeared into the bedroom. Steve looked at the sad little bear on the couch. He picked it up thoughtfully. Why had Bucky chosen this, of all things, to salvage from his apartment? Steve got the feeling the bear was old, probably as old as Bucky. He ran a finger over the bright red buttons, not one bit faded, and smiled. He didn’t introduce the bear to the cat though. That would have been weird.

 

*

 

                That night, both men found themselves staring at The Great Wall of Pillows and wishing it could be demolished. Steve was ready to climb into bed when Bucky had an idea.

                “Hey, where’s Martha going to sleep? She should sleep in the middle. Keep us company. And protect us from burglars.” He said.

                Steve neglected to mention that Martha was currently fast asleep on the couch, paws twitching as she chased dream mice, and instead pulled a thinking face.

                “I guess we should move the pillows. In case she wants to curl up.” He said.

                “Yeah, probably for the best.” Bucky agreed.

                “Yeah.” Steve said.

                Together they redistributed the pillows to either side of the bed. It felt like tearing down the Berlin Wall. When Bucky got in, he didn’t turn to face the wall. He watched as Steve burrowed down, and Steve kept his eyes on Bucky’s face the entire time, so close yet so far. Bucky could close the distance and just –

                No. No, it wouldn’t be fair. Steve was nice, good, he’d taken a damn cat in. Hell, he’d taken Bucky in. And Steve was a virgin. Bucky didn’t want to take advantage of that. He rolled onto his back.

                “Night punk.” He whispered.

                “Night Buck.” Steve replied.

                Bucky could swear Steve sounded disappointed.


	6. Chapter 6

**ELEVEN DAYS UNTIL THE END OF THE WORLD**

                Bucky woke to find Steve’s face nestled into his chest, Steve’s entire body folded into Bucky’s like it was meant to fit there. He savoured the warmth of it for a moment before realising Steve was crying. He pulled back a bit. Steve’s eyes were shut. He was asleep, and yet small sobs escaped him.

                Bucky wasn’t, well, he wasn’t very good at this sort of thing. Tentatively, he shook Steve’s shoulder to wake him. Steve nuzzled closer, the sobs abating slightly at Bucky’s touch.

                “Hey, Stevie.” Bucky whispered. Steve mumbled something under his breath. Bucky tried again. “Stevie.”

                Steve opened one eye blearily, and took in their proximity. He immediately tried to pull away, bringing one hand up to wipe his eyes.

                “’m sorry.” He apologised. Bucky reached out for the hand Steve had used to wipe away his tears. The blond was still letting out little sighs like the crying hadn’t quite stopped but he was trying to hide it. Bucky pulled the hand close to his chest, cradling it, pushing his fingers between Steve’s. Steve looked at him from under those ridiculous Bambi lashes of his, confused.

                Bucky might be refusing himself Steve, refusing to push this, but he could comfort him, dammit. He shifted closer, his body pressing against the blond’s. Steve shuddered at the touch.

                “Bad?” Bucky asked, careful.

                “No, just, bad dream.” Steve said quietly. He allowed Bucky to press their bodies together, Steve’s hand held between them. Steve could feel Bucky’s heartbeat resonating through his own chest. He lowered his head and rested it against Bucky’s collarbone. Bucky’s other hand ran through Steve’s hair, teasing the blond strands and smoothing them out again. Steve wriggled against him, contented.

                “Tha’s nice Buck.” He said, sleepy. Bucky’s heart was in his throat. Steve shifted against him again. The movement went straight to Bucky’s groin. _Not now. You’re actually being a decent person, don’t ruin it._ Bucky angled his hips away from Steve. Steve glanced down.

                “Sorry, I didn’t mean - ” Steve started.

                “It’s okay, Stevie. Just my body. It’s been a while.” Bucky cut him off.

                “You mean you and your boyfriend?”

                “Ex-boyfriend.” Bucky corrected. “And not since I got back, and I’d been out there for nine months. So long time. Guess I’m a little touch starved.”

                Steve canted his hips so they were in sync with Bucky’s again. He deliberately rolled them once.

                “Steve, don’t.” Bucky protested, voice higher than he’d like.

                “What if I want to?” Steve argued. Bucky pushed him away, dropping his hand.

                “Look, you woke up crying. And you’re – you’re a damn virgin. I’m not taking advantage of you. Not now.”

                Steve was angry, it was written in his features and the set of his jaw.

                “Just because I’m a virgin, doesn’t mean I don’t know what I want. Don’t do that, Buck. It’s real shitty.”

                “If things were different, if we’d met in the street, would you have even looked at me twice?” Bucky asked, curious of the answer.

                “That’s not fair, Buck.” Steve replied. His mind screamed _Yes, of course, yes!_ but his mouth betrayed him. He couldn’t just lay all his cards on the table like that.

                “See? It’s just – you just want this because there’s nobody else. I don’t want to be – I don’t want it to be meaningless for you. It should mean something.” Bucky said. He ran a finger down Steve’s cheek.

                “Are you from the forties? Seriously? Don’t. Bucky. Please. Let me have this. It’s not because of, you know, everything. It’s – don’t you feel it too? You and me? There’s something there, isn’t there? I’m not imagining that?”

                Bucky drew lazy circles on Steve’s cheek with his thumb.

                “Okay.” He agreed. “There’s something there. I can feel it. But you deserve better than me. Don’t you see that?”

                “Isn’t that my choice?” Steve asked, stubborn. _Of course it is_ , Bucky thought. “Give me the dignity of that.” Steve continued.

                “Look, Steve. You’re – you’re amazing. Okay? And another time, another place, I wouldn’t think twice. But neither of us is thinking clearly right now. Let me think about this. Please. I won’t leave you hanging, just let me think about it. And you think about it too. Not just because you want to _do_ it, but why. Please, for me, Stevie.”

                “Dammit, Buck. You knock yourself down, but you’re too damn noble for your own good, you know that?”

                “First time I’ve been called that.” Bucky smiled. Steve smiled back. His eyes were still bright with tears, but the sobs had stopped.

                “I’ll think about it. Properly. But Buck, this isn’t just – experimenting or something. When I talk to you, it feels important. And I don’t think we should waste that.”

                “We’re not wasting anything, I’m not going anywhere. We’re not going anywhere.”

                “You know that’s not true anymore.” Steve said bitterly.

                “Ssh, we’re pretending, remember?” Bucky reminded him.

                “I don’t want to pretend our lives away, Buck. I’m scared. You think I want to wake up crying every day? Waking up next to you, it was nice. It felt safe. You feel safe. In the middle of everything, you feel safe. Is that stupid?”

                “It’s not stupid, punk. But I don’t want you rushing into something you’ll regret. I hear those death bed regrets kinda suck.”

                “I don’t think I could regret you, Buck.” Steve angled his face upwards, and pressed a small kiss to Bucky’s jaw.

                “Hey, punk.”

                “Just wanted to do that. No context, nothing. I just wanted to do that.”

                Bucky paused, before pressing a kiss to Steve’s temple.

                “That’s it for now, punk. ‘Til you’re clear. Because I want you to be sure.” He rolled away from Steve, and they both smarted at the loss.

                “You’re a good man, Bucky.” Steve said, as Bucky climbed out of the bed and started to pull on his clothes.

                “I’m not, but thank you for saying it.” He left to go to the bathroom.

                “You are.” Steve whispered under his breath as the door shut.

                On the other side of the door, Bucky scrubbed his hands over his face. He’d done the decent thing by Steve. The other man was confused, the world was ending, they were going to fucking die. _He’s just confused_. He’d come to his senses soon enough. Bucky stared at his reflection angrily. His reflection stared back. His eyes looked lost. That was fair enough, he felt adrift. The only anchor in the storm was Steve, and Steve didn’t even realise how vital he was to Bucky’s survival right now.


	7. Chapter 7

**ELEVEN DAYS UNTIL THE END OF THE WORLD**

                They ate breakfast in silence. It wasn’t uncomfortable, just quiet. Nearby, Martha ate her food. Steve had wrinkled his nose but emptied the litter tray. _They always leave that bit out when they’re talking about cat ownership_ , he thought to himself.

                He finished his cereal, and moved to the sink, washing the bowl up. He could feel Bucky’s eyes on him. He looked over his shoulder.

                “I’m going to do some painting today, if that’s all right? Clear my head a little.” He said. Bucky nodded.

                “I have a date with a certain vampire slayer anyway.” Bucky smiled.

                Steve headed through to his room, and flipped the canvas over. His sketch of Bucky looked back at him. He rummaged through his paints for the right tones, knowing this painting mattered above all others. It would be his last.

                He began blocking out the background and shadows, humming to himself absentmindedly. If he stopped himself for a minute, he could hear the burble of the television and Bucky’s occasional laughter. Steve grinned. It was nice to have someone else in the apartment. He didn’t know how he’d gone so long without it. It felt like Bucky should have always been there.

                He thought back to waking up, to Bucky waking him from his nightmare. To the way he’d acted towards Bucky. He’d been totally out of order, to use Bucky that way. There was no way the other man could feel the same way as Steve, they barely knew each other. And yet. Rather than going along with it, when Steve was at his most vulnerable, Bucky had been considerate. Honest. He hadn’t turned Steve down. Not as such. It was more of a rain check. Something to think about. The offer was still on the table, it was just, sort of, delicate. Fragile.

                Steve knew he liked Bucky. Probably more than he should. This wasn’t just because of circumstance though, he was sure of it. If he’d met Bucky in a million different places, in a million different ways, he was sure he’d feel the same. Bucky already felt like an extension of himself, this vital spark that Steve had been missing, this warm glow in his chest. Bucky was so beautifully _Bucky_ , weird and not perfect but so damn close that Steve wanted to keep him safe forever.

                Steve sighed. Went back to his painting. His hand moved of its own accord, adding shadows and lines from memory. He could picture the end result already, it was just a race against time to get there.

 

*

 

                He got caught up in the work, only coming out of it when he heard a knock on his door.

                “Can I come in?” Bucky asked quietly, tentatively.

                “Sure, Buck.” Steve said, then panicked. Bucky would see the painting. Granted, it didn’t look much like him yet, it was mostly base colours, but still. There was nothing for it, he couldn’t turn it round when it was wet. He stepped so his body hid most of the canvas. Bucky came in.

                His eyes were red. It looked like he was trying not to cry.

                “Bucky?” Steve asked, forgetting the painting and approaching the other man. Bucky sniffed.

                “It’s stupid. It’s all stupid.” Bucky muttered. Steve reached out a hand for Bucky’s. Squeezed it. This was allowed, right? Bucky looked at him. Smiled weakly.

                “What happened?” Steve asked.

                “Buffy. She jumped. To save Dawn. To save the world. And I sat there watching it, and Martha was curled up beside me, and it’s so stupid, but I thought of you. I thought, god, I thought, would I do it? Would I jump to save the world?”

                “The world doesn’t need saving, Buck.” Steve lied.

                “Don’t, Steve, just don’t. Not now. So I thought. Was Buffy saving the world, or Dawn? Or both? Which one do you think was more important to her? And I realised I’d jump too. And I realised I wasn’t sure whether it’d be to save the world or to save – to save you.” Bucky crumpled against Steve. Steve traced circles on Bucky’s back with his fingers as the taller man cried into the crook of Steve’s neck.

                “Told you it was stupid.” Bucky gulped out.

                “It’s not stupid. Just, think you might have your priorities a bit confused is all.” Steve tried. “And you know I’d be there to hold you back. You’d have to stop _me_ jumping.”

                Bucky jerked back, looking at him seriously.

                “I’d never let you jump. Not even for the world.” Bucky said, as though it were a possibility.

                “Then I guess the world would end because I’m not letting you jump either.” Steve argued back.

                “Stubborn as a mule. How’d this – of all the windows I could have chosen that night, and I found you. Stevie.” Bucky looked at him intently. He ran a finger down the side of Steve’s face, catching his chin and tilting it upwards.

                “You still want this?” Bucky asked, watching him carefully. Steve nodded.

                “I do. I promise Buck. Not because of what’s going to happen. But because it’s _you_. I think I was waiting for you.”

                “Silly Stevie. You didn’t even know I existed.”

                Whatever Steve was about to say was cut off by Bucky’s lips on his. The soft warm press of them was easy, slow. There was no force to it, just enough to let Steve pull back if he wanted. He didn’t want. He revelled in the sensation, pressed back a little harder. Bucky tilted his head slightly, trying for a better angle. Steve took the opportunity to press deeper, and flicked his tongue out against Bucky’s bottom lip. Bucky’s mouth opened, allowing Steve in, and the kiss changed, from slow and steady to needy, desperate. Bucky’s grip on Steve’s jaw tightened, and Steve found himself holding Bucky’s hips, so firmly he was sure he’d leave bruises. Bucky swept his tongue against Steve’s, and Steve mirrored the motion, picking up on small hints that Bucky left as he went. Bucky crowded Steve backwards, against the wall, moving his hand away from Steve’s jaw to gather Steve’s hands, pulling them up above Steve’s head, holding them there. Steve looked at him, panting, as Bucky pulled away, and Bucky’s eyes were dilated so completely they looked almost black. Steve bucked his hips against Bucky’s as Bucky leant in again. He wriggled against the restraint of his hands as Bucky used his other hand to hold Steve’s hips in place. The kiss waxed and waned, from gentle to hard and back and forth, Bucky taking small nips at Steve’s lower lip, drawing it into his mouth. Steve whined at the feeling of it all, it was so much. Bucky was hard against him, Steve could feel it, and Steve knew Bucky could feel him too. If he could just get his hands free, he could –

                Bucky stepped back. Released Steve’s hands. Grinned, dazedly. Steve whined again, following Bucky’s lips, but Bucky pressed a gentle hand to Steve’s shoulder, holding him still.

                “Gotta stop there punk. Got a bit, a bit carried away. Gotta, gotta fuckin’ cockblock myself before I do something I regret.”

                “But I want this.” Steve pouted.

                “Me too. And you’re beautiful. God, the sight of you. You look amazing right now, Stevie. Your lips. Just – but. I want to make it special for you. I want to make it so damn good. And I can’t right now. Because I came in here crying about a fictional character. So, not ideal. Can we just, can we just go to the couch and curl up together? For a little while? I think that’d be real nice right now.”

                Steve looked at Bucky, at his kiss bruised lips, cherry red and so damn plush, and his steel blue eyes, rimmed with red.

                “I’d like that, Buck. I’d like that a lot. To be continued?” He asked.

                “Definitely.” Bucky near growled. It sent a shiver down Steve’s spine. Anticipation. Steve took Bucky’s hand and they walked back to the living room, and after shifting Martha off the couch, they wrapped themselves around one another, their bodies fitting perfectly, despite Steve worrying about his sharp bones and Bucky worrying about squashing Steve. They fit. They lay facing the blank television, Steve in front of Bucky, and Bucky pressed gentle kisses to Steve’s neck. Occasionally Steve would shift to catch one of them with his lips instead. He could feel Bucky smile against him. Martha watched them with her green eyes, sulking that the best seat in the house had been taken by two idiot humans. Slowly, as she watched, the humans fell asleep. She jumped up onto the back of the sofa and curled up. She would watch over them.  


	8. Chapter 8

**TEN DAYS UNTIL THE END OF THE WORLD**

                Steve woke up on his uncomfortable couch – _Bucky’s right, this thing is made of bricks_ , he thought to himself. His back was killing him, the tense pain in his lower spine could have him on the floor crying. Instead he tried to sit up, wincing at the familiar ache. Bucky mumbled something and moved behind him.

                Steve stretched his arms above his head, trying to ease out the kinks, letting out a soft cry as he did so.

                “Whatcha doin’ punk?” Bucky asked.

                “Damn back, you were right. Brick couch.” Steve explained.

                Bucky thought for a moment.

                “Is there anything that can help?”

                “Aside from lying completely flat on the bed until it goes away? Not that I’ve found.” Steve sighed.

                “How about a massage? I did promise you one.” Bucky smiled.

                “Erm.” Steve said. He really wanted to say yes. And then he found himself doing so.

                “Okay then.”

                Bucky took his hand and pulled him through to the bedroom. He helped Steve out of his t-shirt and joggers, so he was just in his underwear. Steve wriggled onto the bed, and then bit the inside of his cheek as Bucky straddled him, one knee on either side of his hips.

                “How’d you want to do this then? I’m no expert, but I’m told I’m good with my hands.”  Steve could hear Bucky smirking.

                “I don’t know, I wouldn’t know good from bad.” Steve said.

                “Oh, you will do. Trust me.”

                Steve jumped a little as Bucky’s hands made contact with his shoulders. Bucky bunched and unbunched Steve’s skin, moving in small circles, pressing firmly as though he were kneading dough. It felt good, really good, and Steve had to suppress a moan.

                Bucky moved down his spine gradually, taking in his ribs, ghosting his fingers over Steve’s ticklish sides, before coming to the point just above his tailbone, which radiated pain. Bucky traced the curve there, and sank his fingertips in either side of it. Steve jolted at the touch. Bucky pressed him down firmly, adjusting his hips to keep Steve still.

                “How’s that?” Bucky asked, voice low.

                “’s real good. Doesn’t hardly hurt anymore.” Steve replied, voice thick.

                “I’ve had an idea.” Bucky said thoughtfully. He traced one finger to where Steve’s boxers covered his small backside, slipping a finger underneath. Whereas before Steve’s eyes had been closed, now they shot open.

                “Bucky - ” He gasped.

                “You know the traffic light system?” Bucky asked innocently.

                Steve shook his head. Bucky ran his finger around the elastic of Steve’s boxers.

                “Green means you’re good, everything’s fine. Amber means you’re not sure, and you need to pause. And red means stop. Yeah?” Bucky explained.

                “Yeah.” Steve gasped, as Bucky pulled at Steve’s boxers, exposing his ass.

                “Where are you now, Stevie?”

                “Green.” Steve ground out, as Bucky’s finger slipped between his cheeks, just teasing over his hole. Bucky moved, bending down so he could press a kiss between Steve’s shoulder blades.

                “Now?”

                “Green, god, Bucky.”

                Bucky kissed the spot again, before circling his tongue there. He moved down every notch of Steve’s spine, sucking and licking and pressing gentle kisses, moving his body downwards away from Steve’s hips the lower he went. He paused at the curve, where the knobs of Steve’s spine became less defined.

                “Still green?”

                Steve nodded violently.

                Bucky ran his tongue down the length of the curve, coming to a halt at Steve’s tailbone. Steve shuddered.

                “Buck – Bucky, don’t stop.”

                “Gonna make this so good for you, Stevie.” Bucky murmured. He parted Steve’s cheeks slightly, before lowering his head. He ran his tongue over Steve’s hole, and the blond gasped. He damn near leapt out of Bucky’s hands. Bucky raised his head.

                “Colour?” He asked.

                “G-green.”

                Bucky lowered his head again, licked again. Steve whimpered, shaking.

                “So good Stevie, you’re doing so good.”

                “Bucky - ” Steve whined. “I need - ”

                “I’m working on it.” Bucky replied. He rolled his tongue over the hole again, feeling the muscles begin to loosen and relax. He lapped at it, as Steve shuddered beneath him.

                “You’re so wet, Stevie.” Bucky murmured. Steve couldn’t cobble together a response, just nodding into the bed sheets.

                Bucky darted his tongue in and out, making sure Steve was completely wet, completely open. When he was, he pulled back again, and put his right index finger into his mouth, coating it with saliva. He pressed it gently where his tongue had been, and asked Steve again for his colour.

                “Green.” Steve said, trying to keep his voice steady.

                Bucky pressed against the hole, the wet of it allowing his finger to slide to the first knuckle without resistance. Steve tightened around him.

                “Ssh, it’s okay. Relax again for me Stevie. You’re all ready, it’ll feel really good. Just weird at first. Has anyone ever done this before? Have you ever done this to yourself?”

                Steve shook his head, but allowed his body to relax. Bucky pressed in to the second knuckle, and Steve cried out.

                “Bucky – god, Bucky.”

                “You look so good like this Stevie. So good.” Bucky promised, and pressed his finger the rest of the way in. He allowed Steve to grow accustomed to the sensation of being full, before moving slightly, to find the sweet spot of Steve’s prostate. It didn’t take long, and he rubbed the tip of his finger against the nub and nearly lost Steve again as he shot forward once more.

                “Colour?”

                “Oh god – Buck, if you stop now I’ll kill you myself.”

                “Takin’ that as a good sign.” He rubbed the nub again, massaging it. Steve’s hips rose to meet Bucky’s movements, Steve taking Bucky as deep as he could. Steve let his hips remain in the air, struggling with the front of his boxers.

                “Bucky, I need to – ” His hand frantically worked to free his erection.

                “Go on, Stevie. You’re so good. I want you to feel good.”

                Steve worked his erection as Bucky continued to play with the nub inside of Steve. Steve’s movements became more and more jerky, and he was sweating, back glistening, and Bucky leant down and pressed another kiss to Steve’s spine, increasing his movements inside of Steve.

                “Fuck. Bucky, fuck, I’m gonna - ”

                Steve shuddered, tightening around Bucky’s finger as he came over the bed sheets and his stomach. He collapsed in a heap, and Bucky slowly withdrew his finger. Steve keened at the loss. Bucky moved so he was lying beside Steve, still fully dressed, whilst Steve’s boxers were shucked down to his thighs. The blond shifted his head to stare at Bucky, eyes heavy lidded.

                “You didn’t - ” Steve started.

                “It’s okay. _That_ was all about you.” Bucky grinned. Steve grinned back lazily.

                “You look so fucked out, Stevie. I wish I could take a photo.” He pressed a kiss to the side of Steve’s mouth before sitting up.

                “I’m going to go shower.” Bucky said. He’d managed to keep from coming in his own pants during, but it was becoming a matter of some urgency. Steve tried to lift himself, but his arms were shaky and he collapsed back into a heap.

                “You rest, punk. I’ll be back in a minute.”

                “But I’m gross.” Steve murmured, voice catching with sleep.

                “You’re fine. You’re amazing.” Bucky said, getting off the bed. He looked back as he reached the bathroom door, at Steve sprawled there, utterly exposed and so damn beautiful. The sunlight lit his skin so to make it appear golden. Steve’s breathing was heavy, the inhale and exhale of sleep.

                Bucky barely made it into the shower, the water still warming up, before his hand was on his cock. He came before he had time to think about it, hard and fast, and then stood under the water, resting his head against the cool tile, his hair falling in his eyes, a stupid grin on his face.


	9. Chapter 9

**TEN DAYS UNTIL THE END OF THE WORLD**

                Bucky stepped into the living room after spending far too long in the shower just standing there, grinning to himself. Steve was sat at the dining table, and when he met Bucky’s eyes he flushed deep red and looked down at the scribbles on the table. Bucky approached, pulled out a chair and stretched his legs out, hooking an ankle around one of Steve’s.

                “Hey, punk.” He said quietly. “You going all bashful on me now?”

                Steve didn’t look up, just traced a drawing with his finger.

                “Just never did anything like that before. Feels weird. A good weird. But yeah. I sorta don’t know what to do now.” Steve stumbled over his words. Bucky rubbed Steve’s bare foot with his own.

                “Hey, that was just, I don’t know, we don’t have to go that fast. I just, I wanted you to know how good it could feel. How amazing you are. Because you are, you know that, right?” Bucky said sincerely.

                “I dunno – ” Steve began.

                “Hey, look at me Stevie.” Bucky said. Steve dragged his eyes up to meet Bucky’s. “You are amazing. You don’t have to worry. If you don’t want to do it again, just say. I don’t want to push you into anything you’re not comfortable with.”

                Steve smiled, radiant, his blush still vivid on his cheeks.

                “It’s not that. I liked it. It was, yeah. I didn’t know I could feel like that. That my body could do that. It’s just scary. Stupid, isn’t it? But I got so used to just, sort of, not expecting to ever do anything with anyone like that, that I guess I’m sort of, I don’t know. I feel bad I couldn’t do anything for you.”

                “I told you, that was all about you. Maybe I shouldn’t have - ”

                “No! No. I promise. I liked it. I’m just sort of freaking out a bit. Like, my brain won’t process it. I want, god, suddenly I have all these, well, thoughts and I’m just sitting here thinking, thinking about what I want you to do to me. God. And at the same time, I’m just so glad you’re here at all. If we never did anything again, if you just snuggled up next to me on the couch, watched the rest of Buffy, I’d still be happy. I think I sorta like you, Bucky. I know, I only met you a few days ago. But - ”

                “We live in strange times, Stevie. And I like you too. So much. Whether you want to hold hands or whether you want to tell me about what you’ve been thinking about. We’ve got time, Stevie. There’s no rush.”

                Steve grinned, ran a hand through his hair.

                “God, I need to shower. I’m still all sweaty and gross. I didn’t want to interrupt you though. Thought you’d fallen down the plughole or something.”

                “You go shower. I’m going to get some breakfast. Hey, punk? This doesn’t need to change. You don’t need to act any different. Just keep being you. No expectations, no agenda. I just want to make you happy. Any way I can.”

                “I know Buck. It’s just, nobody’s ever said that to me before.”

                “Then they’re idiots. And they missed out. Big time. Because Steve, you are the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

                Bucky let Steve unhook his ankle from Bucky’s grip, and watched as the blond made his way back through to the bathroom to shower. He leant back in his chair, staring at the ceiling, a grin on his face. He’d been worried, that he’d pushed too hard and too soon, but at the same time, he knew Steve would stop him if he ever tried to. He liked what they had, this dynamic, a friendship and something more. And Steve liked him. _Liked_ liked him. He shouldn’t feel so giddy over such a childish phrase, but he did.

                Eventually he roused himself enough to get cereal, and ate it slowly, not even minding as it got soggy. Steve reappeared, hair tousled from where he’d towelled it dry. Bucky smiled at him, Steve smiled back, and ducked to kiss Bucky. Bucky returned the kiss gently. There was no urgency to it, and Steve pulled back, looking at him like he was staring at the damn moon or something.

                “Things really haven’t got to change, have they?” Steve asked. “We’re good, aren’t we?”

                “We’re fine Stevie. The luckiest boys in Brooklyn. Nothing’s got to change. You’re still you, just I know you a little better now.”

                “A little.” Steve laughed.

                “A lot then. But I still want to find out more. Not just sex stuff, but everyday things, and the weird little quirks you have. I want to know everything about you. And it doesn’t have to be all at once, because I want you to know me too. I just want us to be us, but moreso, you know?”

                “I get it. I really do.” Steve ran a hand through Bucky’s hair. Bucky practically purred at the touch.

                “So, what’s on the agenda for today?” Bucky asked, spooning up the last of his cereal.

                “I was going to paint, but now I think Buffy and making out might be a better option.” Steve said faux-casual.

                “What’re you painting?” Bucky asked, he hadn’t thought to look.

                “If you haven’t seen it, then it’s a surprise. It needs a couple of days, but I should finish it in time.”

                “So, making out and watching Buffy then?” Bucky asked.

                “You lead the way.” Steve said.

                Bucky stood, hooking a finger through one of Steve’s belt loops, and pulled him over to the couch. He pulled Steve down so the blond was straddling his lap.

                “Now, Stevie, no funny business. I’ll have you know I’m a gentleman.” He said sternly.

                “I know for a fact that’s not true.” Steve smirked, before leaning down to capture Bucky’s lips with his own.


	10. Chapter 10

**NINE DAYS UNTIL THE END OF THE WORLD**

                Bucky jolted awake to the sound of thunder. They had fallen asleep on the damn couch again. Steve shifted against him. Bucky barely felt it, only focussed on the way his heart was beating too damn fast and his palms were sweaty and his mind was racing.

                _This is how the world ends, this is how the world ends._

He’d always been scared of thunderstorms, stupid as that may sound for a grown man. Being in the army had amplified this fear, loud noises were rarely associated with anything good. He closed his eyes, trying to catch his breath, trying to hold it like the pamphlets recommended, but instead it came out shaky and too fast. He managed to sit up, moving Steve’s pliant sleeping form off him, and put his head between his knees. He gulped in oxygen, shaking, and the apartment flashed white with lightning.

                _This is how the world ends._

Steve made a small noise, and Bucky tried to quiet himself, but he was aware of the loud raggedness of his own breathing, how he was almost vibrating off the couch, his body shuddering so severely. His mind swirled, losing the grounding of the couch, losing any feeling, circling deeper and deeper in on itself, he was nothing but a racing heartbeat and he was going to die, right now, he knew it, could just feel it, his body breaking from the inside out.

                He felt a hand on his back, rubbing small circles. He flinched away from it, but the hand followed his movement, and resumed the soft circles, firm and strong, reassuring. Slowly, his surroundings began to return, enough for him to hear a voice talking to him, loud and steady.

                “Bucky, can you hear me?”

                His tongue was too thick and heavy to respond. He tried to follow the voice, find where it was coming from.

                “It’s Steve. You’re having a panic attack. I need you to breathe. Can you do that for me?”

                Bucky took a few panicked breaths, the scant oxygen making him more lightheaded.

                “Slower, Buck. Breath in, okay, now, and hold it.”

                Bucky breathed in, shaky. He tried to hold it but the air gushed out of him.

                “It’s okay, try again. Breathe in.”

                Bucky breathed in again. This time he was able to hold the air a little longer. He still sputtered it out though.

                “You’re doing real good, Buck. Can you breathe for me again? Hold it ‘til I say to let it go?”

                Bucky tried to follow the instructions. He took a breath. Held it.

                “Okay, now relax, let it go. Let your limbs go floppy. I’ve got you. Now, breathe in again. Slow, easy breaths. Come on, Buck, that’s great.”

                Bucky breathed in again, his brain welcoming the fresh oxygen. The room seemed steadier. A fresh shudder ran through him.

                “Now breathe out. Don’t worry about shaking. Just focus on your breathing. I’m right here.”

                Bucky let out the breath, and then another roll of thunder punched through and he bit back a sob of fear.

                “Hey, hey. Bucky. Bucky. Can you open your eyes? Look at me. It’s Steve. I’m right here.”

                He couldn’t open his eyes. Couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. The feeling that he was going to die, right there, increased again.

                “Bucky. I need you to breathe. It’s just a thunderstorm.” The hand was gone from his back now, and he heard movement in front of him. A hand was placed on each of his thighs, almost grazing his clenched fists. Long fingers gripped tightly, grounding him.

                “Bucky, you know what my mammy used to say about thunderstorms? She said that lightning was God checkin’ the lights were working. You know, flicking the light switches. And thunder? Thunder is just God stomping his big ol’ feet.”

                Bucky couldn’t help but bark out a tattered laugh at the mental imagery.

                “I never told you about my mammy, did I? Her name was Sarah. She moved here when she was pregnant with me. Irish, like my dad. I spoke with an accent ‘til I went to school, because hers was the first voice I heard and it was my favourite one too. The way she spoke, like the words were woven together, like poetry. I used to wake up on nights like this, and she’d tell me about God, about how there was nothing scary, nothing to be afraid of. And she told me about God stomping his feet, and it made it okay. Hey. You doing all right there?”

                Bucky’s breathing had slowed, his heartbeat quieter in his ears. The shuddering had lessened. Bucky found he could nod.

                “That’s real good, Buck. Now, when I got older, and I was still scared of storms, she took me up to the roof one night. I don’t know how she got the key, but she did. She was that sorta woman, you know? And she led me out there, her in her dressing gown, me in my pyjamas, bare feet, both of us, and we stood in the rain. And I could see the lightning streak across the sky, and when the thunder rumbled it felt electric, elemental. And I realised I wasn’t scared. I was shaking, so cold, but I wasn’t scared. I realised it was so much bigger than me, so far beyond my control, and what’s more, it was beautiful. Not because it was God, or anything, but because it was powerful, and sort of magic, and I was soaked to the skin, shaking like a leaf. Then mammy took me back inside, ran me a hot bath, and made me hot cocoa. And after that, I wasn’t scared anymore. When the storms came, I used to watch from my window, nose pressed against the glass, breath steaming up the view. And mam would come and sit beside me, watching the lightning. Even after she passed, I still watched the storms. Because she was there with me, watching them too. And I wasn’t scared.”

                Bucky let out a slow breath, opened his eyes. He looked at Steve, who was bent down and looking up at him, fingers still pinching the fabric of Bucky’s sweatpants.

                “You still believe that?” He husked out. “That it’s God?”

                Steve raised a hand, brushed a strand of hair away from Bucky’s sweaty forehead.

                “Not so much. But I still think it’s beautiful. And it still reminds me of my mam. Standing out there, soaked through and just being in awe of nature, feeling the rain on my skin, just feeling so connected to something, God, nature, whatever it was. It made it okay.”

                “Felt like I was going to die.” Bucky said quietly.

                “Does it still?” Steve asked, his hand on Bucky’s cheek. Bucky shook his head.

                “You did it Buck, you beat it. You did so well. I’m so proud of you.”

                “Nothing to be proud of. Twenty five years old and scared of a bit of thunder.” Bucky was down. His mood always plummeted after an attack.

                “Buck, don’t be afraid of being afraid. Don’t think it makes you a failure or anything. It makes you _human_. And you survived it. And you’ll survive the next time, if there is one. And I’m here. And you’re safe. And look, the storm’s rolling out now. You want to sit and watch the rain?”

                Bucky thought for a moment.

                “I’d like that.”

                Steve helped him to his feet, and led him through to the bedroom. In the early morning light, there was a grey cast over the room. The bed was pressed against the window wall, and Steve settled Bucky there, draping him carefully in a blanket before sitting beside him.

                “Steve?” Bucky asked, quiet, eyes following the droplets of water racing down the pane of glass in front of him.

                “Yeah Buck?”

                “Thank you.”

                Steve leant his head on Bucky’s shoulder, and snaked an arm around Bucky’s waist. There was a soft thump behind them and then Martha was snaking in, situating herself on Bucky’s lap. She began to purr, kneading at his calf.

                “She’s a mini thunderstorm right there.” Steve said, smiling.

                “Yeah.” Bucky agreed, absentmindedly stroking Martha, digging his fingers into the spot just below her ear that always increased the volume of her purrs tenfold.

                “Let’s just sit for a while.” Bucky said.

                “Okay.” Steve said, snuggling into Bucky’s side.

                _Okay_.


	11. Chapter 11

**NINE DAYS UNTIL THE END OF THE WORLD**

                Bucky fell asleep just as the rain was stopping, hit with the inevitable adrenaline crash that comes after a panic attack. Steve scooted off the bed and let him sleep. Deftly quiet, he used the bathroom, before heading through to the living room, Martha at his heels. He placed down fresh food and water, and cleaned the litter tray, scrunching his face up and quietly muttering under his breath how it was that such a pretty cat could make such a bad smell.

                He pondered what to have for breakfast. He didn’t have as much cereal left as he had planned, what with half of it going to Bucky, so he settled on toast. He plopped two rounds into the toaster and hummed to himself as they slowly browned, jigging his hips slightly. That was the thing about living alone, you could get away with that sort of thing. He glanced to the bedroom door, half expecting Bucky to be watching with a bemused grin on his face. But no, the door was shut.

                After yesterday, when something vital had shifted between them, adding this element to their relationship that couldn’t be taken back, Steve had to admit to himself that he felt overwhelmed a little. In the few relationships he’d had, he’d been able to anticipate, to plan, and to prepare himself for the breakup that was sure to happen. The most he’d ever done was give someone a sloppy blowjob that they’d stopped halfway through. Nobody had ever done anything to him. And then along came Bucky.

                Buttering the toast, Steve paused, knife in hand, staring into space. Yes, he decided. He liked Bucky, and the things they did together. He liked kissing Bucky, making out with Bucky, and he liked the other stuff too (even if it made him blush to think about it). He wanted to make Bucky feel as good as Bucky had him, but he was at a loss. He knew it wasn’t weighted like that, that Bucky didn’t expect anything in return. But Steve wanted to. Hmm.

                He sat down with his toast, not really paying attention as he ate it. The internet had been down for days, so he couldn’t do _research_. Anyway, what they had done so far had happened organically, without prompting, and Steve was pretty sure Bucky didn’t have a master plan in his head. _Relationships were complicated_. Was this even a relationship? It felt pretty serious, and Steve had told Bucky about his mam, and had talked him down from a panic attack earlier, they seemed to have adopted a pet together, and Bucky didn’t look like he was leaving any time soon, but what was it they had? Okay, Steve was definitely over thinking this. And he’d finished his toast without noticing.

                He rinsed the dish under the tap, washing off the crumbs, that’d do, and placed it on the drying rack. With nothing else to do, he grabbed a graphic novel off of his small bodged together bookshelf, and settled down to read. Martha took it upon herself to curl up on his legs as he stretched out on the couch. She was a pleasantly warm weight.

 

*

 

                He must have fallen asleep reading, because he awoke to the sensation of someone – Bucky – kissing his forehead. He opened his eyes and looked at the upside down image of his, his something. Boyfriend? He scrunched up his brow.

                “Whatcha reading, punk?” Bucky asked. Steve showed him the front cover, which didn’t really reveal much, given most people wouldn’t have heard of it ( _hipster alert_ , he thought to himself).

                “What’s it about?” Bucky asked, lifting Steve’s legs up so he could sit on the couch, before depositing Steve’s feet back down in his lap.

                “Sort of zombies. It’s sort of hard to explain.” Steve tried. It was a bit more complicated than that. Bucky looked over at him. He raised an eyebrow.

                “What’s up?” Bucky asked him.

                Steve thought for a moment. He wasn’t entirely sure.

                “What are we?” He settled on.

                “Broad question, what do you mean?” Bucky replied evenly.

                “Like, are you my, you know, boyfriend?” Steve rushed out.

                Bucky pinched one of Steve’s toes softly, and grinned.

                “Hadn’t really thought about it. But if you want to be?” He said.               

                “I do. Want to be. Your boyfriend.”

                Bucky’s face lit up.

                “Then I’d be honoured to be yours, Stevie. Hey, you’re painting me.”

                Steve felt a little trapped. Yes, this was true. And also slightly creepy, right?

                “I saw it in the bedroom. It’s really good. I mean, all your art is good, but it’s like you got me, you know? Do you think, I mean, will you finish it?”

                “You don’t think it’s creepy?” Steve asked.

                “I don’t think it’s creepy at all, Stevie. I think it’s amazing. You’re just this little package of wonder, aren’t you?”

                Steve squirmed. He wasn’t, really. He was just good at some stuff. That was all.

                “I want to finish it, yeah. It just needs a few more days work. I didn’t want to paint whilst you were asleep though, the fumes and all - ”

                “Hey, it’s okay. But if you ever want to disappear and work on it, just say. I don’t want to take away from the things you want to do. Especially not now.” Bucky said patiently. “I have those books, remember? And I might be interested in this weird zombie comic you’re reading.”

                “You mean that?” Steve asked. Nobody he’d been with before had ever given him the freedom to paint, the freedom to say, _hey, I’m a bit busy right now_. Bucky shrugged.

                “I want to see it finished. Call me vain. But no, seriously, I don’t want you to think you need to be around me twenty four seven. We already live in each other’s pockets. We can still do things separately. You wanna go paint now?”

                “Yeah, kinda.” Steve admitted. He’d been itching to fill in some details that were nagging at him.

                “Well, off you go.” Bucky all but pushed him off the couch, but made sure Steve landed gently.

                “Hey!” Steve protested. Bucky helped him to his feet. Steve couldn’t help but raise himself onto his tiptoes and steal a kiss.        

                “What was that for?” Bucky asked.

                “Just for being you. You’ve no idea, just, any of it. How different this is for me. How you just, sort of, I don’t know. Make things work.”

                “No worries, punk. I’m going to heat up some food and check out this zombie thing. Leave the door open though, yeah, don’t want you fuming the bedroom up. I’m not sleeping on this damn couch again ‘cos we gotta wait for it to air out.”

                “Sure thing, Buck. And thanks.”

                Steve made his way to the bedroom, leaving the door slightly ajar as promised. He listened to the sounds of crockery and cooking as Bucky heated something up, the sounds of _his boyfriend_ heating up a meal in _his_ apartment. He began to paint, all thoughts evaporating as the image he was creating started to come to life beneath his brush.


	12. Chapter 12

**EIGHT DAYS UNTIL THE END OF THE WORLD**

                Steve woke up to Bucky’s arm slung over the small of his back, Bucky on his stomach facing away from him. After Steve had finished painting and crawled into bed, Bucky must have snuck in some time later. The window was slightly open to let the paint fumes out, and a small gust of wind allowed the plants to shift and drift. He really should water them.

                His stomach let out a large rumble. He hadn’t eaten last night. He’d meant to, but had got caught up painting and then been so exhausted he’d barely had the energy to brush his teeth. He tried to squiggle out from under Bucky’s arm, not wanting to wake the other man, who looked so damn content in slumber, but his movements caused Bucky to groan and his eyes to flick open.

                “Hey you.” Bucky slurred sleepily.

                “Hey yourself.” Steve replied, smiling.

                Bucky rolled onto his side, so he was facing Steve properly. He moved his hand off Steve’s waist, instead running it through his own hair, wincing at the tangles.

                “Plan for today?” Bucky asked.

                “None as yet. Though I need to eat before I die.” Steve joked, though his stomach apparently agreed and let out another grumble.

                “You never did come through last night.” Bucky smiled. “Come on then, let’s get you some food.”

                “I’m okay, you don’t have to get up.” Steve protested, but Bucky was already pushing back the covers.

                “Stevie. I barely saw you yesterday. And that’s cool, like I said, but I reserve the right to hang off you like a damn barnacle today.”

                Steve smiled and sat up. Glanced over at the painting. A couple more days and it’d be done. He’d make it in time.

                “Well then, Bucky Barnacle, hang away.” He said, and got out of bed, padding over to grab some clothes. Bucky stretched, and headed to the bathroom.

                When they were both washed and dressed, Bucky found himself being guided through how to make the perfect amount of oatmeal by Steve. Steve stood slightly behind him, resting his chin on Bucky’s shoulder (slightly on tiptoes, which Bucky found adorable) and was telling Bucky when to stop pouring the milk, how long to microwave it, and when to pause the microwave to stir. Bucky hadn’t realised it was so damn complicated, but then he’d eat most anything first thing in the morning.

                Finally, after stirring in some sugar into both of their bowls, it was done, and they settled down to eat. Bucky hooked his foot around Steve’s ankle like before, rubbing the jutting bone there. Steve smiled warmly around his spoon.

                “So how did you know how to do that?” Bucky asked.

                “Do what?” Steve replied.

                “Calm me down, during the thunderstorm.” Bucky said, a little embarrassed.

                Steve thought for a moment.

                “I have panic attacks sometimes. They used to be worse, kinda like yours, but they never had a trigger as such. Just suddenly, just sort of happened. At first I sorta ignored it. But it got to the point where I wasn’t leaving the apartment because I was afraid of freaking out in public, so I went to therapy, and they taught me how to ground myself, and after that I sort of got interested in it, and went on a course that taught me a bit more. I always thought maybe one day I could work with veterans or children, I was never sure which. Art therapy or something. But I guess now - ”

                “Nobody’s ever helped me before.” Bucky cut him off. “I’ve always had to talk myself down. It normally takes a lot longer than that. So thank you. And I think you’d be an amazing therapist. I really do.”

                “Thanks, Buck. That was the first time I ever had to put it into action on anyone besides myself. I guess I just started rambling.”

                “I liked it. Hearing about your ma. I like finding stuff out about you. Like, have you ever been to Ireland? Can you still do the accent?” Bucky asked.

                Steve smiled. He thought back to the lyrical way his mam used to speak and started talking, the accent coming out as naturally as his Brooklyn raised one did.

                “I can. And I’ve never been to Ireland. I always wanted to go, but it cost so much. And after my mam died, I don’t know, I always thought it’d be something we would do together. But I feel like my home is here. I’m what they call a ‘Plastic Paddy’, Irish in name only. But still a bit better than those who reel off percentages of ethnicities to make themselves seem more interesting. Elitist, I know.”

                Bucky had gone awful still.

                “You okay, Buck?” Steve asked, switching back to pure Brooklyn.

                “You need to do that more. The accent thing. That was possibly the hottest thing I’ve ever heard.” Bucky said, earnest.

                Steve kicked him gently.

                “Don’t be daft.”

                “I’m not. Really. Steve. God. I didn’t even know I had a thing for accents. You’re so unfair.” Bucky whined.

                “How am I unfair? You come here, with your ridiculous good looks, your hair which despite the odds actually suits you, and your body and your thighs, which are also ridiculous in the best way, and you tell _me_ I’m unfair? Hmph. Hmph, I say to you, Bucky.”

                “You think I’m ridiculous?” Bucky teased.

                “Good ridiculous. Like, how is that allowed, sort of ridiculous.” Steve hand waved.

                “Stevie’s got a crush on me.” Bucky mused.

                Steve blushed.

                “Well yeah.” He managed to say.

                “Can I tell you a secret?” Bucky mock whispered.

                Steve nodded.

                “I’ve got a crush on Stevie too. Don’t tell him.”

                “Yeah? Anything else I shouldn’t tell him?” Steve asked.

                Bucky’s grin turned devilish.

                “Hmm, probably shouldn’t tell him after he’d finished his breakfast I’m going to drag him to the shower and give him the best blow job of his life.”

                Steve dropped his spoon. Bucky looked at him, all innocent.

                “What? You said you wouldn’t tell him.” He said.

                “Gah.” Steve said.

                “Eat, Stevie, you’ll need your energy.” Bucky smiled, and deliberately didn’t look at Steve again for the rest of the meal. 


	13. Chapter 13

**EIGHT DAYS UNTIL THE END OF THE WORLD**

                Once Steve has bolted down his breakfast, Bucky grabbed the bowls and all but threw them in the sink. Nothing broke. He counted it as a win. Steve blushed as Bucky bent for a kiss that was anything but subtle, before pulling the other man up from the chair and half dragging, half leading him through to the bathroom. They reached the threshold and stop, collapsing in on each other giggling like children.

                “I was trying to be cool, Stevie.” Bucky pouted.

                “I know, Buck, and you were. But you gotta stop manhandling me. You seem a little desperate.” Steve grinned.

                “How’d you know I’m not?” Bucky grinned back. “Can’t wait to get my mouth on you, you damn punk.” Steve blushed red, and Bucky chalked up another victory. He loved it when Steve blushed.

                “Come on, get the shower started.” Bucky whined.

                “So impatient.” Steve tutted, but leaned in, and switched the shower on. The noise of the water thudding down filled the room.

                “Too many damn clothes.” Bucky growled, tugging at Steve’s t-shirt. Steve let his arms be lifted and his shirt removed, and then found Bucky’s mouth with his as the shirt was tossed to the floor. He swept his tongue along Bucky’s bottom lip, and Bucky let out a whine.

                “Punk.” Bucky said, before lowering his hands to Steve’s sweatpants.

                “Hey.” Steve said, reaching for Bucky. “You get to have all the fun?” And tugged Bucky’s pants down, taking his underwear with them. Bucky was half hard, and Steve accidentally on purpose brushed his knuckles against Bucky’s cock as he drew his hand back up. Steve smirked as Bucky attacked his mouth again, pulling Steve’s own sweats and pants down, revealing Steve.

                “T-shirt.” Bucky said, and tugged his own shirt over his head. And there they were. They marvelled at each other’s bodies, Steve at the taut lines of muscle that decorated Bucky’s stomach, thighs and arms, and Bucky at the unlikely perfect curve of Steve, the weird dichotomy between hard and soft edges. Bucky pulled Steve towards him, so their bodies were flush. Bucked his hips against Steve. Skin on skin felt amazing. Steve was warm and fit just so. Bucky sucked desperate kisses onto Steve’s throat, as Steve walked them backwards into the heat of the shower.

                Bucky pressed Steve against the tile, the cold of it startling Steve but soon warming. Steve let his head fall back, Bucky’s mouth making its way down past his clavicle, to his nipple, where he lingered for a moment before sinking to his knees.

                “Anyone ever done this before, punk?” Bucky said, burying his head in Steve’s inner thigh, mouthing soft kisses there.

                “Nuh-uh.” Steve choked out.

                “I’m really good at it.” Bucky smirked between kisses.

                “Jus’ saying that. Gotta prove it or you’re all talk.” Steve managed. He found his hands were in Bucky’s hair, grasping roughly at the brunet locks.

                Bucky chuckled, before mouthing the head of Steve’s cock lightly, barely touching it. Steve jerked his hips, and Bucky slid his hands up to still them, to hold them flat.

                “Hey, punk, no rush.” Bucky soothed. He licked up the underside of Steve’s cock, following the vein there, feeling the pulse of blood flowing. Steve squirmed against his hold, fingers tightening in Bucky’s hair. Bucky always loved that. He looked up at Steve, at the way Steve’s eyes had closed, his mouth open, small gasps escaping.

                Bucky took all of Steve into his mouth, relaxing his throat as much as he could. Steve wasn’t as small as his stature would suggest, and Bucky was a little out of practice, but he made it work. Steve tried to buck again, but Bucky held firm. He swirled his tongue experimentally, figuring out what made Steve tick. Turns out, pretty much anything.

                Bucky started to bob his head back and forth, taking Steve in and then almost but not quite letting him go, always keeping contact, whether it was his tongue, mouth or lips. He moved one hand off Steve’s hips to grasp the blond’s ass, squeezing at the meagre flesh there, and Steve understood the movement, knew that Bucky was allowing him to move now. Steve rolled his hips carefully, and Bucky took him in again, tasting Steve on his tongue already, the pre-cum spilling from his partner. Steve moved in earnest now, and Bucky let him, Steve letting out groans and gasps that filled the shower, moans like steam, hot and heavy.

                “I can’t, I can’t, I’m going to – ” Steve warned. Bucky didn’t move back, and Steve’s body shuddered, and Bucky swallowed quickly as Steve emptied himself into Bucky’s mouth. Bucky let the blond calm before slowly, gently taking his mouth off him, and then Steve was dragging him up by the chin, claiming him with a fierce kiss.

                Steve could taste himself on Bucky’s tongue, and with one hand reached down to find Bucky’s cock, and it was Bucky’s turn to groan into the touch, as Steve palmed him before stroking him, slow then fast, the friction perfect and slippery wet. It didn’t take much before Bucky was coming over Steve’s fingers, gasping into Steve’s mouth. He sank against the blond, leaning him back against the tiles, their muscles lax and lazy. Steve ran his hands over Bucky’s back, tracing Bucky’s spine as Bucky had done to him before. Bucky buried his head in the crook of Steve’s throat, eyes closed, the sensation of water and Steve’s touch so brilliantly calming, just a perfect combination.

                Steve explored Bucky’s body, his hands roaming over muscle and skin, and Bucky let him. Steve cautiously ran a finger down the cleft of Bucky’s ass, testing the ring of muscle there, teasing. Bucky whimpered at the touch, too spent to get hard again, but _still_.

                “I like you.” Steve whispered, just louder than the pounding water. “I really like you.” He repeated it, over and over, like a prayer. He didn’t need Bucky to say it back. He just needed to hear himself say it, as he moved his fingers over flesh, Bucky’s body firm against him, pressing him against the tiles. Bucky took in every word, his mind saying them back, _I like you too, Stevie. A whole lot. I really, really do._

They stayed under the shower until the water turned cold, and bundled up in towels, not even bothering to dress, collapsed onto the bed, where lazily, with gentle touches and small kisses, they continued to learn each other’s bodies, the afternoon seeming to last forever.


	14. Chapter 14

**SEVEN DAYS UNTIL THE END OF THE WORLD**

                Bucky woke to a beautifully naked Steve Rogers wrapped around him, all skinny limbs and golden skin. He sighed contentedly, happy to just lay there. Sunlight streamed through the curtain-less window, warming his skin. Dust motes floated in the air around him. He breathed in deep, wishing this could last forever.

                Steve shifted, making a small noise in his throat, the sound of a man who really didn’t want to be dragged from sleep. Bucky held his breath, not wanting to wake him. Steve snaked an arm around Bucky’s waist, pulling him tighter to him. Skin on skin was glorious. Bucky had missed it so much.

                He drifted off again, waking to Steve nibbling at his jaw. In a smooth movement, he rolled over, bracketing his elbows on either side of the little punk, pinning him to the bed.

                “Hey.” Steve smiled, looking at him from underneath his eyelashes.

                “Hey yourself.” Bucky replied, leaning down and stealing a kiss. Steve arched into it. Bucky pulled back.

                “So, we completely forgot to eat last night.” Bucky said.

                “Guess so. Couldn’t drag myself away from you.” Steve smirked.

                “Dammit, Steve. You have no idea the effect you have on me, do you?” Bucky sighed happily. Steve trailed a hand down past Bucky’s navel, and stroked gently.

                “Some idea.” He grinned wickedly.

                “I’ve created a monster.” Bucky sighed. Steve grinned wider. Rolled his hips.

                “You’re terrible.” Bucky bit out, not meaning a word of it.

                “Oh, I know. Let me show you how terrible I can be.” Steve said. He moved his hand in slow strokes, teasing Bucky, taunting him gently.

                “Two can play at that game.” Bucky smirked, pressing himself against Steve, moving his hips so their matching erections rubbed together, Steve’s hand caught in the middle.

                “Oh yeah?” Steve said, stroking Bucky again, faster now. Bucky stuttered out a moan.

                “You’re supposed to be a virgin, punk.” He pouted.

                “I’m a quick learner. Got a good teacher.” He thumbed the tip of Bucky’s cock, spreading the precum he found there down the shaft. The extra lubrication made his next few strokes all the more erotic, and Bucky found himself close. He hadn’t been coming so fast since he was a teenager. Lately, this was becoming a regular occurrence.

                “I’m close.” Bucky warned.

                Steve shimmied his hips, and sped up his strokes, pressing his mouth to Bucky’s throat, sucking hard. He whispered into Bucky’s skin.

                “Come for me, Buck. Come on.”

                Any restraint Bucky had shown was destroyed, and he came hard, over Steve’s hand and their stomachs.

                “Jesus, Steve.” He muttered, shaking his head. Steve squirmed against him.

                “Not bad for a virgin, huh?” Steve smiled, eyes crinkling.

                “You’re terrible.”

                “You love me for it.”

                Bucky went still. Huh. That was new.

                Steve seemed to realise what he’d said.

                “I mean – you love this. You don’t love me. Obviously.” He corrected.

                Bucky let a hand ghost down to stroke Steve, and the blond moaned.

                “I love you like this.” Bucky said, as Steve arched against his touch. Steve’s hand found its way into Bucky’s hair, tugging lightly. Bucky picked up the pace, and Steve bucked against him, face flushing red and body shaking. It always seemed to hit him so hard, destroying him in the best way. Watching Steve come apart at the seams was a gift, one Bucky cherished. Steve threw his head back, eyes closed, body spasming as he came for Bucky. Bucky withdrew his hand, wiping it on the sheets.

                “Dammit, I’m going to run out of bed sheets at this rate.” Steve said dopily.

                “Can’t help it. Can’t stop myself touching you.” Bucky said.

                “You say that to all the guys?” Steve teased.

                “Only you. Only you, Stevie.” Bucky promised, realising as he said them how true the words were. He’d slept with plenty of people in his time, but Steve, Steve was something else. Bucky found his heart beating fast, several realisations hitting him at once. He looked down at the blond boy, still trapped beneath him but making no complaint, looking completely blissed out, and thought to himself _I could love him_. _I might already_.

                He’d liked people before. Felt something akin to love. Perhaps. But nothing this fast, this intense. Steve was a force of nature, and a port in the storm all at once. And Bucky got to touch him. Got to experience all this with him. He shook his head. It was ridiculous. Amazing and ridiculous.

                “We should shower.” Steve suggested, nodding down at their stomachs.

                “You wanna go first?” Bucky asked.

                “I was thinking we should, you know, conserve water, save the planet and all that. Shower together?” Steve smiled. “I want to wash you.”

                God, this boy. Man. This perfect human being.

                Bucky got off Steve, pulled him up from the bed. They were a mess, but it didn’t matter. Steve guided him to the shower, their hands entwined. Set the shower running to warm up, pressing small kisses to Bucky’s shoulders and throat as they waited. They stepped in, and Steve kept to his word, running his hands over Bucky’s skin, washing away the mess they’d made. Bucky let his hands roam over Steve’s stomach, washing away the traces there too. And then, as though mutually agreed without words, they stood together, holding each other, each tracing small patterns on flesh, Steve drawing a finger up and down Bucky’s arm, as Bucky returned to the beautiful landscape of Steve’s back, bumping down the knobs of the vertebrae there. Bucky pressed a kiss to the top of Steve’s head, and Steve sighed against Bucky’s chest.

                “What I said, before. You don’t have to love me.” Steve murmured softly.

                Bucky didn’t still his movements, just tilted Steve’s face to meet his eyes.

                “Stevie. Don’t – I do. I think. It’s just, I’ve never met someone like you. I just know I want to spend every day with you, the good days and the bad. I don’t know if that’s love, but there’s something. Like you’re in every part of me, and I can’t remember what it was like to not know you. It feels like I’ve been missing something vital for so long. Just – I don’t know. I don’t say things unless I mean them. But you, I think, I mean – just give me time.”

                Steve stood on tiptoes and bridged the gap between their mouths, a gentle kiss, barely there.

                “I feel the same way. Buck, you’ve ruined me for anyone else.” Steve smiled.

                “There’s someone else?” Bucky asked joking.

                “No. Not ever. If you don’t want there to be. You and me, right?” Steve rested his head against Bucky’s chest, against Bucky’s heartbeat.

                “You and me. ‘Til the end of the line.”

                They stood still, like statues, for a while longer, until the water grew colder, and their stomachs began to complain for food. They towelled each other off, and dressed easily, comfortably in front of each other. Small touches kept interrupting the process, Steve brushing a wayward hair from Bucky’s forehead, Bucky insisting on buttoning Steve’s shirt, a shirt that looked a little too big and draped over Steve in the most delicious way.

                “Stop looking at me like that, Buck.” Steve stuck out his tongue. “I know I’m irresistible, but have some restraint.”

                “Oh shut up, you know what you’re doing.”

                “I have no idea.” Steve grinned. “Food?” Bucky’s stomach rumbled in appreciation of the idea. Food it was.


	15. Chapter 15

**SEVEN DAYS UNTIL THE END OF THE WORLD**

                They lay curled together on the couch, having finished a frankly ridiculous amount of pancakes. Buffy played on the television, and Martha was draped over the top of the couch, purring contentedly. Bucky Bear sat on top of the television, looking back at them with button eyes.

                “Tell me about the bear.” Steve said, his voice slightly muffled from where he was leaning into his elbow.

                “Bucky Bear?” Bucky asked.

                “Yeah. That’s the one thing I can’t figure out about you. You show up here at midnight, no shoes, just you and this bear.”

                Bucky thought for a moment.

                “Bucky Bear’s kinda special. When I was a kid, I wanted to be a superhero so bad, you know? I guess all kids go through that phase, but for me it was like an obsession. Anyway, my ma got pregnant with Becca, and I guess I must have felt left out, all the attention and everything. I guess I liked being an only child. So the day ma went to the hospital, my dad gave me Bucky Bear. This weird little bear with his blue peacoat and the red buttons, and the domino mask. And he said to me, my dad, not the bear, he said, ‘Buck, you gotta be a hero now, ‘cos you’re going to have a little sister and you gotta protect her. She’s gonna be real small and she’s going to need her big brother. And you’re gonna love her so much, just you see.’ And I just held this bear, and I guess I started crying because I didn’t really understand. I thought they wouldn’t love me as much any more. And my dad just hugged me and said of course they would, that when someone new comes along, your love doesn’t half, it grows. And that if I ever felt sad, and I felt like I couldn’t talk to ma or dad, then I could tell Bucky Bear about it and he’d know what to say. So I scurried off to my room, and I told Bucky Bear about, I don’t know, whatever angst a five year old can have, and I guess I fell asleep, because the next thing I knew, my dad was knocking on my door and telling me it was time to go to the hospital because there was someone special for me to meet. I was so nervous, I grabbed Bucky Bear and damn near squeezed his stuffing out, but the second I saw her, Stevie, Becca, this brand new person, I understood what my dad meant. That I had to protect her. And my ma smiled at me and I could see that she still loved me. She looked amazing, radiant, exhausted but radiant. And they helped me hold Becca, and I promised her, I promised her I’d always look after her, and I did, you know? I got into fights when people said bad things about her, I helped her with her homework, I listened to her talk about boys, the good and the bad. I wish – I wish I could see her again, just one more time, just to tell her that, I don’t know, that I love her. But I know she’s safe. She’s with her friends and she said everyone’s being really chill over there, just throwing parties and celebrating, like what’s happening isn’t so bad. But still. I don’t even have a photograph of her to show you. I wish I could. She’s so beautiful. After my parents died, it was just me and her, you know? I’d just left high school and suddenly I had to look after her. But we survived. We made it. I guess. She was the first person, apart from my parents, who I knew I could trust completely. I don’t know if I’ve met anyone like that since.”

                Steve was silent. Bucky’s breathing was a little ragged, like he was trying not to cry.

                “That night, when I left my apartment, I was halfway outta the bedroom window when I saw Bucky Bear sitting on the bedside table. Brock hated it, said having a stuffed animal at my age was stupid. It was the only thing I ever put my foot down on. Bucky Bear has always been there, and yeah, I guess we fought about it a lot, but then everything with Brock was a fight. He wasn’t – he wasn’t very nice, really. But I kinda thought, maybe it’s ‘cos I’m away, he must get lonely. I always had an excuse for him. But really, he was just a dick. It shouldn’t be a battle, you know? He never said he loved me, I don’t think I ever said it to him either. We were just two strangers living in the same apartment who fucked sometimes. And my wages got sent home and he’d spend them, and damn. It was fucked up. So I was halfway out of the window, and I saw Bucky Bear. I was ready to leave everything behind, and hope for the best on the streets. Survive the last two weeks however I could. But I saw Bucky Bear, and I had to take him too. Because he was the one good thing I had left. The one thing that had been permanent in my life. And the only reminder I had of my ma, my dad, Becca, everyone. So maybe that’s stupid, but I wanted him to be with me. Because everything was fucked, and Bucky Bear was a hero, my hero, my confidant, this weird little bear, and you know, I’ve never seen another one? I don’t know what they’re called or anything, but I’ve never seen another bear like him, on eBay or anything. So I took him with me. I don’t know.”

                Steve felt Bucky shrug behind him.

                “I’m sorry about Becca.” Steve said quietly.

                “It’s okay. Really. I think she’s happy. Where she is, it’s a nice a place as any. Nicer, probably.”

                “I know, but still. I get that you’d want to be with her. Family’s important.”

                “You’re important too, Stevie. Being here, now, just holding you here, it’s good. And not because of whatever the alternative would have turned out to be. But because I want to be here. And yeah, I’m sad about Becca. But if someone had told me that there’d be this little punk spending his last days on his own in his apartment, this amazing person I never got to know, and I’d missed out on that, if I’d have missed out on you, Stevie, god. It’s enough, Stevie. It’s good. This is good. I really wouldn’t want it any other way.”

                Bucky pressed a kiss to Steve’s temple, where his hairline met skin. He found Steve’s hand and held it tight. Steve laced their fingers together.

                “I’m glad you’re here too, Buck. As selfish as that is.”

                “It’s not selfish. You’re the least selfish person I’ve ever met.” Bucky insisted.

                “Nah, I’m not. Really. But I’m glad I met you. And Bucky Bear. And I sorta want to beat up your ex now, too.”

                “He’d flatten you. No offence.” Bucky pointed out.

                “Probably. But still. He hurt you.”

                “I’m okay. Or I am now.”

                “Okay, Buck.” Steve shuffled down, resting his head on the cushion of the couch. He closed his eyes. Soon his breaths were slow and even, eyes flickering as dreams played out behind them. He didn’t hear Bucky catch his breath, didn’t hear the soft words whispered in the darkness. _Love you, Stevie._


	16. Chapter 16

**SIX DAYS UNTIL THE END OF THE WORLD**

                “Brick. Couch.” Steve grumbled, pushing himself off the couch and into an awkward heap on the floor. Bucky blinked, waking up properly. He stretched, the couch not exactly doing wonders for his back either.  They needed to start using the bed. This was getting ridiculous.

                Steve eased his way to his feet, bending this way and that to try pop his spine, swearing under his breath. Bucky watched him, watching the way his body moved, loving every moment of it.

                “I could give you a massage?” He suggested innocently. Steve turned and gave him a look.

                “We know how that ended last time.” Steve said, hands pressing deep into his lower back.

                “Like you were complaining.” Bucky pointed out.

                “Not complaining. Definitely not. But, ouch, sex does not solve all of the things. Sleeping in a proper bed solves all of the things.”

                “There’re plenty of things you can do in a bed.” Bucky leered.

                “And one of those things, which I am going to do now, is to lie very still and wait for my back to stop creasing me.” Steve said.

                “You’re no fun anymore, Stevie. I remember when you were fun.”

                “Life is cruel and unusual, Buck. You coming with?” Steve nodded to the bedroom.

                “To play look but don’t touch? I don’t know, Stevie.” He joked, but was already on his way to standing.

                “Come talk to me. Distract me.”

                “Distracting I can do.” Bucky said.

                “With your _words_.” Steve asserted.

                “Fine, with my words.” Bucky sighed, and followed Steve through to the bedroom.

                Steve got onto the bed tenderly, sprawling out on his back. Bucky lay down beside him, clicking his fingers together so Martha jumped up between them. She curled up into a purring bundle of fur, content to be with her two pet humans. Bucky’s hand found her stomach and stroked, causing a rumble of purrs. Steve laughed.

                “She likes you.” He said.

                “Told you, animal person. They all love me.” Bucky reminded him. “And I love her, because she’s a silly, beautiful creature. Aren’t you? Aren’t you?” He spoke to the cat.

                “Do you think that cats mind that we talk to them like they’re babies?” Steve asked, eyes closed.

                “Probably. Bit of a step down from the old Ancient Egyptian days of being worshiped as gods.” Bucky said.

                “But they still have that god complex.” Steve said.

                “Oh, totally. You do, don’t you, yes you do.” Bucky’s voice went soppy as he spoke to Martha.

                “Did you ever want kids?” Steve asked abruptly.

                Bucky thought for a moment, biting his lip.

                “I don’t know. I mean, I never really thought about it. I was never in the sort of relationship where that could be a _thing_ , you know? Hell, I haven’t even had a pet since my parents were alive. What about you?”

                Steve sighed.

                “I always figured I’d have kids someday. In an abstract sort of way. Don’t know why, or how I thought that was going to happen, probably was going to adopt some kid who reminded me of me, you know, the kid nobody else would have time for? But I didn’t want to do it on my own. I guess I could have, but I wanted it to be with someone. Old-fashioned, I know, but there you go. Doesn’t matter now, anyway.”

                “Hey.” Bucky moved so he was propped up on his elbow to look at Steve. “You’ve gone all maudlin.”

                “Sorry. I’ll shut up.” Steve said, eyes still closed.

                “Hey, no. It’s okay. There’s a ton of things I wish I’d done too. I guess it kinda feels like you have all the time in the world until suddenly you don’t.”

                “Yeah. I guess it’s starting to get to me a little. I can’t stop, I can’t stop counting down in my head. I know there’s nothing I can do, but there’s a part of me that’s so damn angry. Like something’s been stolen from me. Like, there should have been _more_. That this whole thing isn’t fair.” He clenched his fists at his sides.

                “Stevie. Steve. Punk. It sucks, I know. It more than sucks. Words cannot describe the level at which it sucks. I’m angry too, so damn angry. And I don’t think there’s anything wrong with that. We were promised another fifty years, good health allowing, and suddenly, poof, gone. Just because of some random rock in the sky.”

                “It’s so fragile, isn’t it? Life, I mean.” Steve said, opening his eyes to look at Bucky. “I remember thinking that after my mam died, but now it feels even worse. Maybe because it’s me this time. Mam was sick for a long time, I guess I had a chance to grieve for her whilst she was still alive. In the end, it was almost a relief, because she was in so much pain and she wasn’t, wasn’t lucid or anything. But suddenly the news is telling you you’ve got a fortnight to live and people start going crazy and I can see why. It’s the scariest thing in the world, to know that everything’s been for nothing.”

                “You believe that? That it’s all for nothing?” Bucky asked.

                “Sometimes. I mean, they say there’s going to be nothing left. No trace that humanity was ever here. Just a burnt out rock. Covered in ash and dust. And I think, sort of, is that all history has been leading up to? All humanity has worked towards? Just to be wiped clean? For none of it to have mattered at all?” Tears leaked down his cheeks now. Bucky wiped them away with his fingers.

                “This mattered. Everything mattered. You think just because there’s nobody to say it mattered means it didn’t? When my parents died, they still mattered, even if they weren’t here to say it for themselves. And your mam too. She’s still here, in your memories, in the way she raised you, in your actions. Even if there’s nothing left, even if the world is nothing but ash, we still existed. We still mattered. For the short blink of time we were on this planet, we mattered. Every little thing we did, every touch, every word. It all mattered. Because that’s what life is. It isn’t knowing that you’re going to die. It’s knowing that and living despite that. When your mam was sick, did she give up?”

                Steve shook his head.

                “No, she fought it. As long as she could.” He said.

                “There you go. It’s innate, to want to survive. In the army, I saw things, horrible things. And on more than one occasion I honestly thought that was it for me. And afterwards, after I didn’t die, I would always think to myself, you know, Bucky, those were shit last words, or a terrible last thought, because it was always something stupid, like ‘Well, I really fucked that one up’. It’s not elegant, it’s not pretty. And it’s scary. But right now, we’re here. We’re here and we’re alive and the universe will remember us. We might never be Steve and Bucky again, but everything gets recycled. Everything gets another go around. We matter to the universe because we’re a part of it. We matter, Stevie. In one way or another, we’ll be remembered. Maybe not as individuals, but somehow. I have to believe that. No, I know it. We’ve sent probes and gold discs out into the abyss. We’ve screamed into the darkness, told anyone looking for us all about us. It might be a million years before they find it. It might be never. But somewhere out there, there’s a disc with Shakespeare carved into it. Far beyond the reach of any rock. We’re out there, Stevie. In the stars. The universe won’t forget us.”

                “You promise?” Steve looked at him, eyes shining with unshed tears. In that moment, Bucky utterly believed his words. He had to, for Steve. Whatever doubts he had, he squashed them down completely.

                “I promise.”


	17. Chapter 17

**SIX DAYS UNTIL THE END OF THE WORLD**

                Bucky’s mission, should he choose to accept it, was Steve. He was wrapped around the sleeping blond, the big spoon to the blond’s very little spoon. Steve slept fitfully, jerking at times, mumbling. Bucky was torn between waking him and letting him sleep. Whatever he was facing in his dreams, the real world wasn’t much better.

                Bucky thought about what he knew about Steve. That Steve was kind. Stubborn. Loving. Attractive but hopelessly unaware of it. A little punk with a big mouth and a bigger heart. Steve was Steve, and Steve was the person Bucky would be spending the rest of his life with. And he wouldn’t change that for anything.

                Steve was unhappy though. Bucky had reached a certain plateau emotionally, too drained to pay much heed to the ticking clock in his head, and too exhilarated by Steve to care that that clock was ticking louder and louder. Time was slipping through his fingers like water, and he’d all but forgotten about it. When he was with Steve, it seemed to last forever, every moment stretching beyond its means. And you know something? If all he got were two weeks, two weeks with Steve, well, he was pissed off beyond belief that the universe only saw fit to give them that, but it was enough. No, enough was the wrong word. It would never be enough. If they both lived to be ninety and died happy and slightly kooky in their old age, it still wouldn’t be enough. But it would have been fairer. Steve wasn’t wrong. Steve was probably more emotionally aware than Bucky was at this junction. Huh.

                Bucky breathed in, the smell of Steve, of the plants, of paint. He could happily spend a lifetime here, if Steve would have him. Already he associated this small apartment with _Home_ , a home, somewhere that was safe and made him feel safe. It was about belonging. He felt like he belonged here.

                He scratched underneath Martha’s chin, and she looked at him with those green eyes of hers. He wondered if she knew, what was going to happen. Cats, animals, they were supposed to know, right? But she seemed blissfully unconcerned by proceedings.

                Steve was mumbling in his sleep, incoherent words, not enough to make sense of. Bucky wondered how he could make this okay. For all of his joking earlier, he knew sex couldn’t fix everything. It was a salve, certainly. It made Steve feel good, and that made Bucky feel pretty damn amazing. The thing nobody got about Bucky, none of his previous partners anyway, was that making his partner feel good was more of a turn on than pretty much anything else. And watching Steve fall apart beneath his hands was beautiful every time. Steve seemed to get it, to a degree, he didn’t offer to reciprocate, though Bucky wasn’t sure whether that was out of inexperience or shyness – he hoped it was just Steve picking up on the fact it wasn’t necessary. Steve was brilliant, making him come was brilliant, Bucky wanted to show Steve everything he knew, wanted Steve to experience as much as possible whilst he still could.

                _Okay_. Bucky thought to himself. _So I love this man_. He couldn’t really deny it. It weighed heavy on him, a stone in his throat. He found himself wanting to blurt it out, hell, he’d scream it from the rooftops as long as Steve was the first to hear it. He didn’t know when it had happened, when it had gone from being something more than friends to this knowledge that he would lay down his life if it meant Steve could live through this. Steve would reject that offer out of hand, of course, being Steve, but it was the thought that counted, right?

                Steve rolled over in his arms, eyes flickering open. A small smile played over his features as he caught Bucky watching him.

                “Am I that interesting?” Steve asked jokingly. “That you have to watch me whilst I’m sleeping?”

                “Gotta keep an eye on you.” Bucky said back. _I love you_.

                “I’ve slept most of the day away again, haven’t I?” Steve groaned, rubbing his eyes.

                “It’s okay, there’s still enough light for you to paint. And then we’ll have spaghetti, I think I spied some when I was going through the freezer. I’ll heat it up.” Bucky promised.

                Steve rolled over to face him.

                “I had a dream. Where it didn’t happen. Where we survived this. And it’s stupid, but it felt like I lived our entire lives. I saw everything we were going to do. It felt so real. I wonder if, do you think, in another universe, this doesn’t happen? In another universe, do you think we bump into each other in the hallway someday, or you get my post by accident, and we meet, and we just know? In another universe, where, I don’t know, you’re a librarian, or a florist, or something, and we meet each other. Do you think those universes exist?”

                “I can’t see why not.” Bucky smiled gently. He laced their hands together, bringing them to his mouth to kiss Steve’s knuckles, one by one.

                “I like that. The idea of it. That in a thousand other universes there a Steve Rogers and a Bucky Barnes and they just know. The way I knew. The first time I saw you. On my fire escape. Clutching a bedraggled looking bear. The way I know now, looking at you. Maybe it wasn’t conscious then, when I let you in, but it is now. And maybe it’s wrong of me to say it, maybe I’m completely off track here, and tell me if I am, because I don’t want to make things awkward. But I do, you know. Love you.” Steve dragged the last few words out hesitantly, nervously. Bucky’s grip on his hand increased.

                “You love me?” Bucky asked.

                Steve nodded. His face burned red.

                “I can’t help it. I told myself not to. That it would only hurt more. But I do. And it’s okay if you don’t, you know, love me back. You don’t have to. I’m just glad I got to know. Got to know what it felt like. To love someone so completely. I didn’t expect to. I didn’t expect any of this. It’s stupid, I know.” Steve tried to pull his hand away. Bucky held tight.

                “Hey. Stevie. God. I love you too. So much. I kept wanting to tell you. It’s been in my head for days. But I didn’t want to frighten you. They’re big words, you know? But I do, I love you so much. I thought I’d go crazy if I didn’t get to tell you. I love you. I love you. I love you.”

                Steve closed the distance between them to kiss Bucky firmly. He pulled back barely, smiling.

                “I love you. And a thousand other Steves in a thousand other universes love their Buckys too. I know it.” Steve said, lips grazing Bucky’s. Bucky kissed him, not letting go of his hand. When they parted, they just stared at each other for a moment.

                “Shame we can’t make this Facebook official.” Bucky smirked. “Ouch!” He yelped, as Steve pinched him.

                “We were having a moment. You ruined it.” Steve laughed. His eyes crinkled at the corners, watching Bucky happily. Bucky sat up, pulling Steve up with him.

                “Here’s the plan. You’re going to get dressed, get some food, and then you’re going to paint. And I’m going to see if I can’t make a serious dent in the final season of Buffy. Deal?” Buck said.

                “Or we could stay here?” Steve teased.

                “I know you too well, Stevie. I know you want to paint. There’s time for all that. Time and enough. And if you don’t eat something soon I’ll start feeling terrible for inadvertently starving you. There’s nothing to you. What would your mam make of me?”

                “She would say you need feeding up as well. She was big on feeding people up. It’s an Irish mammy thing.” Steve agreed, letting Bucky pull him out of the bed. “You know what else she’d say?” He gathered Bucky close to him, tiptoeing for another kiss. “She’d say I’d done good. Finding you. And then she’d threaten to break your kneecaps if you ever hurt me.”

                “I’d never hurt you, Stevie.” Bucky promised.

                “I know. And she’d know too. But she’d still say it.”

                “I think I’d have liked your mam.”

                “Not as much as you like me, I hope.”

                “Nowhere near. Come on, bathroom, you, you’ve got work to do.” Bucky untangled their fingers, and slapped Steve’s bottom gently, causing the blond to yelp and run for the bathroom. He sat back down on the bed. _Steve loved him_. He shook his head. A stupid grin covered his face, he knew it. Steve loved him. Let the world come crashing down around him. Steve loved him.

               


	18. Chapter 18

**FIVE DAYS UNTIL THE END OF THE WORLD**

                Steve had spent the previous day in a state of wonder. After waking up and freaking himself out about his own mortality, he’d woken again to admit the one thing he knew to be true above all else right now. He loved Bucky. It felt mad to even think it, to know it was so damn true. He never thought he’d get to say it to another human being again, those three words which made his heart clench and mouth dry, that seemed so vital and so big. He loved Bucky.

                He’d worked hard on the painting, to the point where his arm had ached and Bucky had come to retrieve him so he could eat. They’d spent the night curled up together in Steve’s bed, whispering I love yous to one another in the dark. It was madness and it was beautiful.

                Now Steve lay awake staring at the ceiling, listening to Bucky sleeping beside him. He should get up, his limbs yearned for movement, to stretch out and begin the day, but Bucky’s gentle breathing kept him still and calm.

                He wasn’t sure how long he lay like that, listening to the steady metronome of Bucky’s breathing, until it shifted and Bucky rolled over to find Steve staring back at him.

                “Now who’s watching who sleep?” Bucky asked, grinning sleepily.

                “Listening, really. Didn’t want to wake you.” Steve said. Bucky made a small contented noise in the back of his throat. He tilted Steve’s jaw towards him to steal a kiss. They were past the point of morning breath, well past it, and Steve let himself be kissed, a passive participant until Bucky teased his mouth open and Steve fought back, bringing his all to the fray.

                Soon, hands were groping at flesh with reckless abandon, Bucky reaching for any part of Steve he could find and Steve doing likewise, bringing their bodies together, the thin fabric of their boxers the only border between them. Steve ran a hand down past Bucky’s waistband, feeling the coarse hair there, and then stroked Bucky, before shimmying down the bed under the covers.

                “Whatcha doing punk?” Bucky asked, as Steve pressed kisses below his navel, to the insides of his thighs, edging closer to where Bucky’s erection strained against the fabric.

                “I did this once.” Steve said. “I wasn’t very good. I want to see if I’ve improved.” He pulled one leg of Bucky’s boxers to one side, freeing Bucky, and tentatively licked the head of Bucky’s cock, tonguing the slit delicately. Bucky’s hand gripped Steve’s shoulder tight.

                “You don’t, don’t have to.”

                “Want to.” Steve said, before copying what Bucky had done to him and licking upwards from the underside of the base, following the line of the vein there. Bucky whimpered beneath him. That was a good sound. Steve rested a hand on Bucky’s hip, kneading the skin above the bone there, and ran his tongue around the head again, circling it like a lollipop. Bucky whimpered again, hand clenching tighter on Steve’s shoulder, hard enough to bruise.

                “That’s – that’s good, Stevie. Real good.” Bucky stuttered.

                Steve looked up at him from under his eyelashes. Bucky’s stomach muscles were clenched tight and his eyes shut, head pressing back into the pillow. Steve opened his mouth, covering his teeth with his lips, and took Bucky inside as much as he could. Bucky jerked against the warmth of him, and Steve pressed down on Bucky’s hip to still him. Steve moved his tongue around Bucky’s length, feeling the throb of it, the weight of it, the taste of it. Breathing through his nose, he swallowed, before edging his mouth further into the curled hair of Bucky’s crotch, relying on his gag reflex not to catch him out. He spluttered a bit, pulling back, before moving forwards again, relaxing as much as he could. Bucky was utterly still beneath him, carefully still, though Steve could hear his breathing, erratic and uncontrolled. Steve hollowed his cheeks, and ran his tongue over Bucky again, around and over, and Bucky let out a whine. He jerked beneath Steve, even now careful to control his movements, not to hurt or cause Steve to gag.

                Steve pulled back, allowing his tongue to roll along Bucky as he did so, before bobbing his head forwards again, taking Bucky back in, then repeating the motion. He wasn’t sure what he was doing, but Bucky’s skin was becoming slick with sweat under Steve’s fingers, and Bucky’s calves were clenched around Steve’s waist, holding him to him like a vice.

                Steve allowed himself the opportunity to explore a little, hand still gripping Bucky’s hip, as he attempted to take Bucky as deep as he could. Bucky’s hand squeezed his shoulder in warning.

                “Close - ” he whined. Steve smiled around Bucky’s cock, continuing to lick and suck and move his head, figuring out which set Bucky off the best. Bucky’s hand on his shoulder was shaking now, his whole body tense.

                “Stevie – ” Bucky cried, before hot liquid filled Steve’s mouth, forcing him to swallow rapidly, retreating slightly as his throat worked hard. Bucky let out the most obscene noise Steve had heard a human make, before flopping down onto the bed, as though dropped from a great height. Steve gently removed his mouth, tucked Bucky back into his shorts, and wiped his mouth. He emerged at the head of the bed triumphant, a smirk on his face, and Bucky immediately kissed it off, their tongues mingling, Bucky’s taste mixing between them.

                When Steve pulled away for air, he smiled.

                “I got better at it then.” He laughed to himself. Bucky looked at him like he was slightly insane, before claiming his mouth again. Steve found himself beneath Bucky, wriggling against him, as Bucky kissed him for all he was worth. Steve was hard against Bucky’s stomach, and Bucky knew it. Bucky’s kisses grew softer, before Bucky leant back, fixing him with a steady gaze.

                “Stevie.” He said, voice low and dangerous. “You should fuck me.”


	19. Chapter 19

**FIVE DAYS UNTIL THE END OF THE WORLD**

                Steve couldn’t help the shudder that ran through him. He damn near moaned at the thought of it.         

                “Lube, in the bathroom, right?” Bucky asked. Steve could do nothing but nod. Bucky was out of the bed in an instant, leaving Steve bereft, before bounding back, holding the unopened tube. He flung himself on the bed beside Steve, fiddling with the plastic tear strip on the top of the bottle. Steve watched him bug-eyed as he got the lube open, and squeezed a small droplet onto his fingers, rubbing it between them, before nodding. He turned to look at Steve, before smiling at Steve’s face.

                “God, Stevie. I’ve wanted to do this with you for so long. You want this, right?” He checked. Steve nodded, brain unable to form words. Bucky shimmied out of his boxers, before nodding down at Steve to do the same. Steve edged his boxers off, setting them aside. He felt lightheaded, his cock throbbing, unsure what to do next.

                Bucky took a pillow and placed it under the small of his back, so his hips canted upwards slightly. He lay back, and with one hand, pressed a finger between the cheeks of his ass, over his hole, rubbed gently. He looked at Steve the entire time.

                “You can’t just go in there, all lube and that. You gotta go slow. Or it doesn’t work.” He explained. “When you feel it relax, then you can start stretching. Otherwise you’re not going to get anywhere. Feel.”

                He removed his hand, and placed Steve’s finger to the spot.

                “You feel it? How it’s puckered, ready? That’s how you know. Otherwise it’ll be too tight. Now, do you want to do this, or should I?” Bucky asked. This was about Steve, and he wanted to try his hardest to get it right.

                “Show me.” Steve said, his voice husky. Bucky grinned.

                He squeezed a generous amount of lube onto his fingers. It looked like too much.

                “There’s no such thing as too much lube, Stevie. Better too much than not enough.” He put his hand down below again, the way his hips were angled showing perfectly what he was doing. He ran a lubed finger over the hole, biting his lip as he did so. He was soft, but the sensation still felt good. When he was sure, he pressed in to the first knuckle.

                “Golden rule, Stevie. Go slow. Make sure it’s nice and wet. You’re going to want to clench against it, remember? You gotta breathe and relax. It’s supposed to be fun, after all.”

                Steve watched, achingly hard, as Bucky pressed his forefinger in the entire way.

                “Then you gotta wait a minute, like I did with you. Get used to the feeling. And once, once you’ve gotten used to it, you just slide another finger in.” He moved his second finger, shifting his hips slightly, and slid it home to join the first.

                “And wait again. A lot of waiting, I know. Not like in porn. You don’t have to every time, but I want you to know how to do it properly. Okay?” Steve nodded. He remembered the sensation of Bucky’s finger inside him, how it had felt as he’d grazed that sensitive spot.

                Bucky moved his fingers now, spreading them apart, stretching himself out, biting his lip as he did so. There was slick everywhere, dripping down Bucky’s thighs, wetting the bed sheets. Bucky worked himself open as Steve watched, before catching Steve’s gaze.

                “Here.” He said, handing Steve the lube. “Get some on your fingers. Do it for me.”

                With shaking hands, Steve poured more than he thought he’d need onto his fingers. Bucky stopped and with a shaking sigh, removed his fingers, guiding Steve’s to replace them. Steve pushed past the ring of muscle easily, feeling for the first time the warmth of Bucky, the tightness.

                “Move, move them apart. That’s right. There’s going to be some resistance, but I’m going to relax now and you’re going to feel the difference, okay?” He did so, and Steve found he could move his fingers more freely. Bucky was opening up for him perfectly. He knelt between Bucky’s spread legs, waiting for further instruction.

                “If you feel around, there’s a small nub, that feels different to everything else. You might not find it straight away, but that’s what you’re aiming for. That’s what makes it feel so good. See if, if you can find it.” Bucky was actually getting hard again. It couldn’t have been fifteen minutes since Steve had blown him.

                Steve moved his fingers experimentally, feeling the walls around him until he stroked something that made Bucky jolt. He’d found it.

                “That’s – that’s it.” Bucky gasped. He was half hard now. “Try another finger. I’m almost ready.”

                Steve gently slid a third finger inside, finding barely any resistance at all. He grazed the nub again, causing Bucky to swear. It was amazing, having that much power.

                “Okay. Okay.” Bucky panted. “I’m ready. God, I’m so ready. Lube yourself up. Remember, as much as you think you need and then a bit more.” Steve removed his fingers carefully and squeezed the lube into his palm, before slicking himself up. It felt cold to the touch.

                “It’ll warm up, trust me.” Bucky smiled.

                Steve lined himself up, not quite believing this was happening. The tip of his cock teased over Bucky’s hole, and Bucky whined again.

                “Do it. Just go slow.” Bucky said. Steve pushed in.

                It was like nothing he’d ever felt before. He had to stop moving almost immediately for fear of coming right there and then. He took a moment to catch his breath, before moving forward once more, burying himself in Bucky.

                “Okay?” He asked shakily.

                “Perfect. You can move if you want.” Bucky assured him.

                Steve rolled his hips, trying to aim for the nub he’d felt. He missed it the first couple of times, and angled himself a little differently. The next time, he was sure he’d hit it, as Bucky brought his hips up to meet him. He kept moving, the sensations utterly overwhelming, knowing he wouldn’t last long. Bucky’s hand was on his own cock, stroking furiously between them. Steve began to feel the heady build-up of his orgasm approaching, and aimed steady and hard for Bucky’s prostate, moving with Bucky’s own movements, perfectly in sync.

                He came before he knew what had hit him, his vision temporarily blacking out as pleasure rippled through every inch of his body, surging waves washing over him. He heard Bucky choke out a moan of his own, felt the warmth of Bucky on his stomach, and then he could see again, shuddering the last of his orgasm out, flopping down on top of Bucky, sliding out without realising.

                “Good?” Bucky asked, running a hand through Steve’s hair.

                Steve nodded, feeling giddy.

                “Not a virgin anymore, Stevie.” Bucky said. Steve looked up at him. Bucky was right. Wow.

                “I love you.” Steve said, voice muffled by Bucky’s chest.

                “I love you too, Stevie. You’re so perfect. You’re amazing. I can’t believe I came again. Christ. What have you done to me?”

                Steve shook his head. He didn’t have an answer. His body still beat with the aftershocks of his orgasm, making him feel floaty. He snuggled his head into Bucky’s chest.

                “Thank you, Buck.” He said.

                “That was purely selfish, let me assure you.” Bucky joked.

                Steve knew it wasn’t true. Knew Bucky had done that for him. Knew that Bucky hadn’t expected to get anything out of it. That Bucky had been teaching him, guiding him through it with an experienced hand. He was in awe of Bucky, and so damn in love it almost hurt.

                “We need to shower.” Bucky said, stroking Steve’s hair, which was damp with sweat and sticking to his forehead. Steve nodded, but made no effort to move.

                “Oh Stevie, do I have to carry you? I probably could.” Bucky mused. It was enough to get Steve onto his knees, where he could survey the mess they’d made of the bed. He helped Bucky up, and they made their way through to shower, washing each other’s bodies with the ease of two people who knew each other perfectly. Steve caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. His throat and collarbones were littered with bruises, where Bucky’s mouth had been, and fresh red marks marred his shoulder where Bucky had held on tight. Bucky himself was little better.

                “We’re a mess.” Steve commented.

                “A beautiful mess.” Bucky replied, scruffing up Steve’s hair.

                “Whatever would people say?” Steve asked absentmindedly.

                “Does it matter?” Bucky asked.

                Steve smiled, and pressed a kiss to Bucky’s jaw.

                “I love you.” He said.

                “I love you too. Now get yourself dry before you catch cold.” Bucky bundled Steve into a towel. Steve let himself be rubbed down, feeling utterly pampered and relaxed. Nothing was better than this. He caught his boyfriend’s eye. Nothing.


	20. Chapter 20

**FOUR DAYS UNTIL THE END OF THE WORLD**

                Steve wasn’t sure what he was supposed to feel. He’d expected to feel different, like he’d passed through some ritual and out the other side. Like he’d become a man or some shit like that. But he didn’t. He just felt like Steve. Same ol’ Steve.

                Strong arms hooked around his waist. Okay, not quite the same. Bucky nuzzled into Steve’s neck, pressing a kiss there before whispering a soft I love you to the shell of Steve’s ear. Bucky rocked them back and forth gently, standing behind Steve, who stood in front of the canvas, brow furrowed.

                He was so close to finishing it. Bucky was supposed to be sitting for him, so he could get the finer details like the crinkles around his eyes and the way his mouth quirked _just so_ , but Bucky was bored. Bucky liked touching Steve, casual touches, intimate touches, everything. Steve couldn’t quite believe it.

                He laced his fingers between Bucky’s, pulling him closer. Bucky hummed happily, a song Steve vaguely recognised but couldn’t place.

                “You’re so damn good at this Stevie.” Bucky said, lifting his eyes to the painting before them. Steve shrugged. He didn’t really want to admit it, but he thought it might be the best he’d ever done. Nobody but the two of them would ever see it. And that – he was okay with that. Really. It felt too personal to share. It was Bucky, Bucky as Steve had first seen him, and it had slowly become Bucky as Steve saw him now, the Bucky he loved, the Bucky that held him and loved him back. Steve shook his head.

                “What’s up, punk?” Bucky asked.

                “Just thinking. You. Thinking about you.”

                “Good things I hope.” Bucky leaned in tighter. Steve let his head fall back slightly into Bucky’s hold. Bucky was just the right height, he didn’t make Steve feel small even though he had several inches on him, and his body seemed shaped to perfectly match Steve’s. There was a beautiful comfort in these moments, the two of them, seeking nothing from each other but touch.

                “Good things.” Steve assured him.

                “’Cos you love me.” Steve could hear Bucky smiling through the words.

                “’Cos I love you.” Steve promised.

                “Never going to get tired of hearing that. Or saying it. You’ve turned me into a sap, Stevie.”

                “You were always a big softie really, Buck. Never could have taken you seriously showing up in pyjamas clutching a cuddly bear.”

                “I’m very manly.” Bucky protested, joking.

                Steve grinned.

                “Never said you weren’t, Buck. Think you proved that yesterday.”

                “Damn, punk, think you proved it more than me. Feeling you inside me, couldn’t believe how I got so damn lucky.”

                Steve turned in Bucky’s grasp to face him, looking up at him.

                “You’ve done so much for me, Buck. Not just yesterday, but just being here.”

                “Being here with you isn’t what I’d call a hardship.” Bucky said. His eyes fixed on Steve’s.

                “I’ve never, that’s the thing. Nobody’s ever felt that way about me before.” Steve said.

                “And I’ve told you, they were all idiots. Stevie, I love you. Give me another hundred years and I’d still love you. A thousand years. This isn’t some sense of obligation, or whatever you’re telling yourself. I can hear your brain ticking through possibilities. You think too much, Stevie. Just let it be. This. Us. It’s good. I wouldn’t be any place else. You’re it for me. The best damn thing that ever happened.”

                “You mean that?” Steve asked, his face so close to Bucky’s that they were breathing each other’s air.

                “Every damn word. Every single word.”

                “Okay.” Steve said simply.

                “Okay?” Bucky asked.

                “Okay. I believe you. All caution has been thrown to the wind. I love you, and I am going to let myself believe you love me too. Because you really do, don’t you?”

                “I really, really do.” Bucky affirmed.

                Steve darted a quick kiss to the corner of Bucky’s mouth, before untangling his fingers from Bucky’s.

                “You gonna sit for me so I can get this damn painting finished then? If you love me so much? Or am I going to have to tie you down?”

                Bucky raised an eyebrow.

                “You’re awful, you know that, right?” Steve said.

                “Only for you. You bring it out of me. But I’ll sit. I’ll sit and I’ll be quiet and boring and watch you paint your masterpiece and try not to jump your bones. I’ll be good.” Bucky promised. He made his way back to the bed, where the light fell best. He picked up the book he’d been flicking through, one of the one’s he’d picked up at Mrs Wilson’s place.

                “Okay if I read?” He asked.

                “Will you read to me?” Steve asked, picking up his paint brush again.

                “Sure.” Bucky smiled.

                So Bucky read, his voice steady and clear, as Steve painted delicate lines, the words etching themselves into the painting just as Bucky himself had. The light grew dimmer as time passed, and finally, finally, Steve stepped back his arm aching. He put his paint brush down and shook out the muscles.

                “That’s it.” He said. The painting of Bucky stared back at him. Captured in it was Bucky’s humour, his fear, his love and his kindness. His lips were ruby red and his eyes glared blue.

                “Damn.” Bucky breathed, coming to stand beside Steve. “You actually did it.”

                “I actually did.” Steve said, reaching to hold Bucky’s hand. Bucky gave it a gentle squeeze.

                “So what do we do now?” Bucky asked. Steve looked out of the window, then glanced at his watch. The days were definitely getting shorter, the dark drawing in sooner. He let himself lean into Bucky’s shoulder.

                “Spaghetti Bolognese. There’s some in the freezer. And then bed.”

                “Sleep bed, or not sleep bed?” Bucky asked playfully.

                “Considering how well you sat for me…” Steve teased. “I could be persuaded either way.”

                Beside him, Bucky smiled. They stood for a few more minutes in front of the painting, before Steve dragged Bucky through to the kitchen, where together they made one of the last meals in the freezer.


	21. Chapter 21

**FOUR DAYS UNTIL THE END OF THE WORLD**

                Steve stared up at the ceiling of his bedroom. Beside him, Bucky slept soundly. Steve was bone tired but couldn’t sleep. A million thoughts tried to press in on him. _How many more times would he close his eyes and wake up?_ His heart raced. He took a few steadying breaths. He didn’t want to work himself into a panic attack.

                His body had other ideas. His stomach rolled and the familiar nausea rose. He sat up and got out of bed as quietly as he could, padded through to the bathroom. Sitting on the closed lid of the toilet, he leant his head against the cold tile of the wall. He carefully counted the seconds as he took in air, holding it as best he could.

                _Things were good_. That was the worst of it. Things were so damn good. And it was all going to be torn away. He gulped in more air.

                Sitting in the twilight, he wondered how it’d happen. Whether he’d be aware of it. Whether it’d be slow or quick. He couldn’t hold back a sob imagining it. Was it selfish to want to be asleep for it? There was little chance of it, he knew.

                A knock on the bathroom door, and Bucky’s voice calling through.

                “Stevie, you okay in there?”

                Steve tried to call back, but his voice caught in his throat. There was a moment of silence before the bathroom door creaked open, revealing Bucky, a concerned look on his face. The instant Bucky saw him, he was rushing towards Steve, coming to squat before Steve, taking his hands in his.

                “Hey.” Bucky said, running his thumb over Steve’s.

                “Hey.” Steve managed.

                “Not doing so good?” Bucky asked.

                Steve shook his head.

                “Hey. It’s okay. I’m here.”

                “You’re here.” Steve said.

                “Damn right. Not going anywhere. Stevie. It’s going to be okay.”

                “It’s really not.”

                Bucky shook his head, squeezed Steve’s hands a little tighter.

                “Remember what I told you? When you got yourself all worked up before? It’s still all true.” Bucky said.

                “It’s not that.” Steve huffed out a choked laugh. “I don’t know what it is. I just, I guess I couldn’t sleep and my brain decided to overthink.”

                “Tell me then.”

                Steve looked at Bucky, at the earnest expression on his face. He bent to rest his forehead against Bucky’s.

                “It’s this, Buck. Us. I like us. I don’t want – I want more time. Dammit, I want to take you on a date. I want you to meet my friends. I do actually have friends, you know. I want to walk down the street holding your hand. I want to sit on a bench in the park and sketch, with you by my side making me smile. I want all the stupid things you do without thinking, the everyday stuff. I want to go to the store with you and see which cereal you pick out. I want so damn much for us. I’ve been spoilt by you, having you, knowing you, but it’s not enough. Fuck. It’s so far from enough. I want it all. I want time. I want us. I don’t want – dammit. I don’t want to die. I want to know that I’ll wake up in a week and see you beside me. And I want to know that you’ll smile, and I’ll smile back. And we’ll be able to say, hey, you know, what are we going to do today? Where are we going to go? Because there’s so many places I want to go with you. And we don’t get to do that. And it’s not fair. I’m twenty four years old. You’re twenty five. It’s not fair. It’s so unfucking fair.”

                Bucky nuzzled his nose against Steve, trying to ignore the tears that wet Steve’s cheeks.

                “You know I want that too, punk.” Bucky said.

                Steve couldn’t find the words. Outside, rain began to tap on the window, insistent.

                “Steve. Please. Come back to bed. Just – I can say what you want to hear. That we can do all those things. I can lie to you. I can make grand plans. I can promise you a thousand things. But you don’t want that. I know because I wouldn’t either. So I’m not going to. Instead, I’m going to tell you what we have. We have three days, Stevie. Three days. And that seems like blink and you’ll miss it. And you’re right. And it’s not fair. I’d sell my soul for another week. I want to get to know every part of you, all your weird opinions and the facts about you that nobody else knows. I want us to be one of those annoying couples that sits in the booth at the diner and shares a milkshake and makes their friends roll their eyes. I want you to meet my friends. I want you to meet Becca. She’d love you, you know? She’d embarrass the hell out of me in front of you, and you’d laugh, and she’d laugh, and I’d pretend it was the worst thing ever, but I’d love it really. You’d like her too. I want, I want everything. But instead, we’ve got three days.” He let out a long sigh.

                “Three days. It’s not nothing. Three days to spend time with you. To make love to you. To tell you I love you. To show you in every way I can. I don’t want to spend those days afraid. I am, you know. I’m terrified. I don’t want to die either. I hadn’t been planning on it. After this tour, I was going to leave the army, find something ridiculously dull and safe to do. You’d have thought I was the most boring person in the world, you probably wouldn’t have looked twice at me. Wearing a suit, sitting in an office all day, whilst you stayed home painting and making beautiful things. And I think about that, think about coming home to you, and spotting the paint splatters in your hair, tugging you into the shower and washing you clean. Just holding you, because we’d have all the time in the world. And you’d make fun of my suits. And I’d laugh and not tell you you had paint on your nose when you went to get coffee. And you’d come back and be so mad at me. But you couldn’t stay mad. You’d never stay mad.” Steve chuckled at that, his breath hitting Bucky’s cheeks.

                “Come back to bed. You’ll catch cold in here on your own. And I can’t sleep without you now. I’ve gotten used to you and your snoring.” Bucky said.

                “I don’t snore!” Steve burst out.

                “A little.” Bucky said, wrinkling his nose. “But I like it. And I love you.”

                “I love you too.” Steve let Bucky help him stand, and followed him back through to the bedroom.

                They settled in the bed, Bucky curling around Steve, an arm slung over Steve’s waist.

                “Tell me more about your job, the office job. Tell me about it all.” Steve said quietly.

                So Bucky began to speak, making up possible futures, funny stories they’d never get to live through, the art exhibitions Steve would never be a part of, the irate customers Bucky would never have to deal with. He spoke until his voice grew hoarse, and Steve’s breathing evened out. He didn’t sleep for a long time, the rain still falling as dreams finally wisped him away.


	22. Chapter 22

**THREE DAYS UNTIL THE END OF THE WORLD**

                Steve tried the faucet, twisting it as far as it would turn, but no water emerged. _That’s that then_.

                “Buck!” He called, and Bucky emerged, half-dressed, to see what the problem was.

                “No water.” Steve said. Bucky just nodded. There had been stuff on the news about how facilities would be gradually shut off towards the end, people wanting to get home to their families, people not wanting to maintain a dying civilisation.

                “I think we should check the television.” Steve said.

                They’d avoided it since the first night, using it only for Bucky’s binge watching of Buffy DVDs. Now, they curled up together and flicked through the channels, every one showing the same recording.

                The president sat behind an impressive desk, a sombre expression on his face. He stared down the lens of the camera, a man aged before his time.

_“As you know, there is a 98% chance of the meteorite known as Doomsday hitting us in three days’ time, causing a mass extinction event. It is my solemn and sad duty as your president to inform you that services will be shutting down. After today, the television networks will be unable to broadcast due to interference from the meteorite. This is a speech I never expected I’d have to make, and making it is sobering at best. I am proud of what we, as a species, have accomplished. We were still young in the universe, making our first steps out into the stars. But we have achieved much. Great works of art have been produced, and people have witnessed great things. While all hope seems lost, I ask you now to return to your family, your friends, your loved ones. Keep them close. Remember the good times. Laugh and celebrate the fact that you lived on this beautiful planet, and that it nourished you for as long as it did. Whether you have faith or not, I hope you find peace. Life is never in vain, as long as it is cherished. So please, spend your last days well, and know that the nation, the world is in my thoughts and the thoughts of all other world leaders. I will be returning to my family, and we’re going to have a barbecue. We’ll toast to one another and old memories will spill forth. I hope you can find something which will bring you happiness. And, though it is not my place to say, I am sorry. The world weeps as one. But now is not the time for sorrow. Now is the time for love, friendship, and the hope that we will meet again. With nothing left to say, but to wish you the very best, and to thank you, I am signing off. For the last time. God bless America.”_

                Steve and Bucky sat in silence. The message looped and began again. Martha padded up to them, and jumped up onto Bucky’s lap. He stroked her absentmindedly, and slung an arm around Steve’s shoulders, pulling him close.

                “It’s not over ‘til it’s over, punk.” He murmured. Steve ran his fingers down to where they stroked Martha, lacing them together. Martha looked up at him, affronted.

                “Sorry.” Steve apologised, but couldn’t find it within himself to let Bucky go.

                “What do we do now?” He asked Bucky. Bucky shook his head.

                “I don’t know. What do you want to do?” Bucky asked. Steve squeezed his hand.

                “I want you.” Steve decided. “I want to kiss you ‘til your mouth is bruised. I want to make you come so hard you forget your name. I want you naked, beautiful, beneath me. I want to mark every part of you, taste every part of you. I want you, Bucky.”

                Bucky quirked an eyebrow and smiled.

                “It’s our duty as American citizens. You wouldn’t go against the president’s wishes, would you?” Steve said teasingly.

                “Well, when you put it like that. You’re quite the patriot.” Bucky smirked.

                “Aren’t I just?” Steve replied, pulling Bucky up off the couch. Bucky apologised to Martha before brushing her off his lap. She looked at him resentfully before jumping back up onto the now vacant space and curling up.

 

*

 

                In the light of the midday sun, dust motes floating in the air, two bodies moved as one. Small whines and gasps filled the room, punctuated with whispered I love yous and the soft sound of skin on skin. The world revolved briefly and utterly around two men, blond and brunet in turn, as they offered themselves to one another, golden and beautiful, rising and falling like the tide, sweat glistening and making them appear almost otherworldly. Mouths found each other and then slipped away to make purple marks on pale skin. Hands clenched and unclenched, fingernails dragged and left red trails, roads and pathways. Bodies shook, trembled, shuddered, reaching crescendo and then falling into the fuzzy hum of calm. Fingers traced patterns on skin, traced bone and muscle. A golden afternoon passed, the light growing dimmer and dimmer until they lay in the semi-darkness of evening, the sky outside purple and pink, the sun disappearing below the horizon. They stared at each other, drinking one another in, each touch a prayer, each caress worship. It felt like an ending, every gasp a farewell in a different tongue. As evening became night, they held each other, the four eyed being of Plato’s imaginings, two halves of a whole content in the dark, complete for the first time. Salt sharp tears ran in soft courses down cheeks, and the promises of love wiped them away, the gentle humour of bad jokes and memories forcing laughter, happiness. It wasn’t a bad way to say goodbye. It didn’t feel like an ending. It felt like celebration. As the lamp beside the bed flickered, once, twice, and then went out, two men lay in the darkness, breathing in sync, finally acknowledging the inevitable, finally accepting. It never felt like giving up. One of the men thought of a line he’d once heard, and smiled, _rage, rage against the dying of the light_. The time for rage had passed, surpassed by the time for eked out moments of joy, the last crow of pleasure into a screaming abyss. It felt okay. It really did.


	23. Chapter 23

**TWO DAYS TO GO BEFORE THE END OF THE WORLD**

                Bucky woke up to the sound of music playing softly. _Impossible_. Curious, he padded out into the living room, to find Steve swaying gently in front of his old timey gramophone. Steve looked up when he heard Bucky.

                “It’s wind up.” He said, and smiled. “No electricity required.”

                Steve was playing something old, Glenn Miller, perhaps? And Bucky moved forward to place a hand around Steve’s waist, grasping Steve’s hand with his other. Steve stood stock still.

                “I can’t dance.” Steve murmured.

                “Sure you can, everyone can dance.” Bucky assured him.

                “You’ve never seen me try. Two left feet.”

                “You just need the right partner is all. Nobody looking but me.” Bucky smiled, and pulled him into the centre of the living room, where they sway in time to the music.

                “See? Nothing to it.” Bucky smiled at Steve.

                “As long as it doesn’t get more complicated than this.” Steve grinned.

                Bucky let go of Steve’s waist and twirled him outwards, before pulling him back in.

                “Cheating.” Steve laughed.

                “That’s the extent of my knowledge. Unless you have anything more modern.”

                “I do, but you’ll probably mock me tirelessly for it. I bet you’re such a snob.”

                “Am not.” Bucky said, pulling Steve close, so their bodies are flush. Steve rests his head against Bucky’s chest, tapping out Bucky’s heartbeat on Bucky’s wrist.

                “Never danced like this with anyone before.” Steve said, muffled.

                “I never wanted to before.” Bucky replied.

                They turned in small circles, one song merging into the next, the sounds of the past thrumming through them, until a more upbeat song comes on and Bucky can’t help but move his feet in time with it. He took Steve’s hands and swung them between the pair of them, urging Steve to move with him.

                He moved his feet back and forth, and Steve just stood there, watching, letting his arms be jostled.

                “C’mon Stevie, just do what I do.”

                “I’ll step on you.” Steve warned.

                “I think I’ll live.” Bucky laughed.

                Steve began to awkwardly shuffle along with Bucky, mirroring his steps. He wasn’t lying, he does have two left feet, tripping over himself and stepping on Bucky’s toes more than once. But Bucky doesn’t let this stop them, pulling Steve this way and that, swerving his hips and losing himself in the beat. Steve began to laugh, and Bucky joined in, until they’re both giggling like children. They lose all semblance of rhythm and instead just dance, hands joined, swinging each other back and forth as their feet make up the steps. Steve’s smile was wide on his face, his eyes bright. His head fell forward to meet Bucky’s chest, and Bucky let him lean into him, slowing their movements down again. They rotated slowly on the spot, Steve still tapping out Bucky’s heartbeat, and Bucky was sure if he felt Steve’s they’d be in perfect sync.

                The record stopped after the song faded out, and they stand together for a while longer, just still and quiet, until a head butted Bucky’s ankle. Martha looked up at him and mewed.

                “Gotta feed the baby girl.” Bucky said, pulling away from Steve reluctantly.

                “Oh! Don’t open the fridge. The milk’s gone kinda gross. There’s no water still, but I’ve got some bottled in the cupboard. It’ll do for Martha.” Steve said.

                Bucky bent down and found the water, pulling out a bottle for Martha, and one for himself. He grabbed the cereal box on the way back up, shaking it. Nearly empty. He poured Martha a fresh bowl, and topped up her food, before pouring his cereal out and eating it dry.

                “Not quite the luxury we’re used to, I know.” Steve joked.

                “Maybe we can complain at the front desk, see if we can’t get some room service.” Bucky smiled. Steve settled down in the seat opposite him, even though he’d already eaten. He watched Bucky eat, stealing Bucky’s water every few minutes to take a sip.

                “I’ll get your germs.” Bucky warned. “Or you’ll get mine. You don’t know where I’ve been.”

                “I know where you’ve been, Buck.” Steve laughed. “Plus, I don’t think it matters anymore.”

                “Still, gross.” Bucky pulled a face.

                “I like all of you. Even your germs.” Steve said, taking an exaggerated gulp of water.

                “You’re so weird. Why do I like you again?” Bucky laughed, taking the water back.

                “’Cos I’m amazing. At everything.” Steve boasted, joking.

                “You are, you know.” Bucky said seriously.

                Steve blushed.

                “I’m not. You’ve just seen me dancing. And there’s a bunch of other things too that I suck at.”

                Bucky kicked him gently under the table.

                “Stop destroying my illusions of you. You’re perfect. That’s the last I want to hear of it.” He swallowed down the last of his cereal, before dumping the bowl in the sink, more out of habit than anything. Seemed a good a place as any to leave it.

                “Hey, I’ve got something to show you, I think you’ll like it.” Steve said. He made his way back over to the gramophone, and knelt down to go through his box of records. He pulled one out and flipped it over to show Bucky.

                “No fucking way.” Bucky swore.

                “My friend got it for me as a joke. But I’ve heard you singing it, and I figured, you might like to listen to it?” Steve was holding Taylor Swift’s _1989_.

                “And I thought I couldn’t love you more than I already did. Come on punk, put it on already.” He urged. Steve fiddled with the machine, and wound it up. Soon the opening strands of _Welcome to New York_ were playing out through the apartment. Bucky grabbed Steve’s hand and pulled him close.

                “This, this I can dance to.” He said, gyrating his hips against Steve’s. Steve laughed, and allowed himself to be dragged along with the music, as Bucky sang along, not quite in tune, but well enough. He let himself get lost in the music, watching as Bucky ran his hands through his hair, raising his arms up and running them down his body as he far more expertly moved in time. If Steve hadn’t fallen for him already, this would have done the trick. Steve tried to copy him, biting his lip in concentration. It was stupid fun, Bucky still in nothing but his boxers, looking like sex on legs as he moved sinuously with the music.

                If after a couple more tracks Bucky found himself being led through to the bedroom, he wasn’t about to complain.


	24. Chapter 24

**TWO DAYS TO GO BEFORE THE END OF THE WORLD**

                “So, important question.” Bucky said into the afterglow, tracing his finger around Steve’s belly button aimlessly.

                “Important, huh?” Steve asked, propping himself up on one elbow and swatting Bucky’s hand away. “Stop it, you know I’m ticklish.”

                “If you could sleep with anyone, dead or alive, real or fictional, who would it be?” Bucky asked, punctuating his sentence like it truly was life or death.

                Steve fell back into the pillows, groaning at the tackiness of it.

                “You gotta answer!” Bucky protested.

                “You know the answer!” Steve replied. “I think I just made it abundantly clear who.”

                “Aww, Stevie, you flatter me. Apart from me. Before I came along. Who would it have been?” Bucky probed. He ran his hand over the flat beneath Steve’s ribs, causing the other man to jolt. Ticklish. “Don’t make me torture it out of you.”

                “It’s really embarrassing.” Steve said, covering his eyes with one hand. “I can’t say.”

                “Now I have to hear it.” Bucky said, smirking.

                “No. Nooo.” Steve said.

                “Come onnn, Stevie. I’ll tell you mine. But you gotta answer first. Mine’s a really good one.” Bucky promised.

                “Argh.” Steve complained. “Fine. Tayte Hanson. Okay?” He flushed bright red. Bucky giggled.

                “The porn star? Stevie. You’ve been holding out on me.”

                “When he had the long hair, just that and his smile, and yeah. It’s so pathetic, I know.” Steve groaned again, almost squirming with embarrassment.

                “Someone said I looked like him once.” Bucky said casually. Steve removed his hand from his face and eyed Bucky. He groaned again.

                “You totally do. Oh my god. What is my life.”

                “You have a type, Stevie. That’s amazing. And good choice, by the way. Can’t fault you there. And not just because it’s so damn obvious you were just waiting for me to step into your life.”

                “You’ll use anything to massage your ego, won’t you?” Steve poked Bucky in the ribs.

                “Oi. And yes. You wanna hear mine?” Bucky asked.

                “Go on.”

                Bucky grinned wickedly.

                “Obama.”

                “What.”

                “Just to say I had. And I wouldn’t mind being first lady.”

                “You’re awful! I took it seriously and then you say that. And no, I am not going to go there. You can’t be first lady.”

                “I’d look stunning in a dress. In fact, I _do_ look stunning in a dress.” Bucky leered playfully. Steve poked him again.

                “Stop with the poking already. Okay. Fine. Kurt Cobain. And before you say anything, there’s a very good reason.”

                “The fact he looked a bit like you and you’re really vain?” Steve grinned.

                “He didn’t look like me.” Bucky argued.

                “Yeah. He’s got your mouth. And your ridiculous hobo hair.”

                “Whatever punk.” Bucky stuck his tongue out before continuing. “I had this huge poster of him on my wall as a teenager. I guess having him stare down at me every night was kinda formative. And I liked what he stood for, if you looked past the drugs and everything. He had a lot of cool stuff to say about feminism and homophobia and racism. He was a good guy.”

                “So. You like the blond haired, blue eyed, sometimes artist, outspoken, who, hmm, suffered with scoliosis?”

                “When you put it like that –  ” Bucky started to say.

                “Now who has a type, Buck, huh?” Steve laughed.

                Bucky laughed too, he couldn’t help it.

                “We’re ridiculous. How long have you lived here?”

                “Four years.” Steve said.

                “I’ve been here two. God, we must have passed in the corridor or something in all that time. Or been in the same elevator. We were so close and all that time we didn’t see each other. We’re properly hopeless.”

                “’fraid so.” Steve said, lacing his fingers with Bucky’s. “I can’t play guitar though.”

                “Huh?” Bucky asked.

                “The Kurt Cobain thing. I can’t play guitar.”

                “Well, he’s been dead for twenty one years, so I think you’re probably going to win my affections if it came down to it.”

                “Gee, I’m honoured.”

                “You should be. My affections are not just given away.” Bucky pouted.

                “Sure. First time I fed you you gave your heart away to Mrs Wilson.” Steve remembered.

                “I was young, I was anybody’s. I’m mature now.” Bucky protested.

                “Uh huh.” Steve said, pretending to be unconvinced.

                “Yeah, this damn punk came along and I fell in love with him. Couldn’t help myself.”

                “Really.”

                “Yep. Wormed his way into my heart. Never stood a chance.”

                “That right?”

                “You know it.”

                “You should hear about this hobo that fell onto my fire escape then. Weirdest guy I ever met, but turned out to be sort of amazing. Complete dork though, as it turned out.” Steve explained.

                “I’m not a dork.”

                “You so are. You’ve spent the last fortnight mainlining Buffy the Vampire Slayer.”

                “Which I never got to finish, by the way. Had like, four episodes to go.”

                “You’ve seen it before though?” Steve asked.

                “Yeah, but you know, sort of wanted to see the ending. Don’t know why really. Just for closure I guess.”

                “They save the world and live to fight another day.” Steve said softly.

                “I know. Hey, I always thought I should have been a vampire slayer.”

                “Bucky the vampire slayer. Hey, it works, your name is daft enough.”

                “I resent that comment and will no longer be talking to you. My lawyer will be in touch over custody of Martha.” Bucky huffed.

                Steve grinned, and leant over, biting gently at Bucky’s upper arm. Bucky raised an eyebrow. Steve looked back under his eyelashes.

                “I’m a vampire.” Steve said, mouth still on Bucky’s skin. Bucky huffed out a laugh. Steve bit down again, just as gentle. “What are you going to do, Bucky the vampire slayer?”

                Bucky pretended to think.

                “Are you a good vampire or a bad vampire?” He asked.

                “I could be good. Or I could be bad. Up to you.” Steve teased.

                “I have ideas.” Bucky said.

                “I’d be interested in hearing your ideas.”

                “I think I’d rather show you.”

                “That works too.”


	25. Chapter 25

**ONE DAY UNTIL THE END OF THE WORLD**

                Bucky woke up feeling oddly at peace with the world. That night, at around midnight, everything would end. And he could rage against it, scream and cry all he wanted, or he could accept it, and squeeze every last moment he could out of the day.

                Beside him, Steve snuffled his little snores, and Bucky allowed himself the luxury of closing his eyes a little longer to listen. So this was it. And it wasn’t so bad.

                Outside, the weather was cloudy, threatening rain. For some reason, he had wanted it to be sunny, a token gesture from nature or something. But no. But that was okay, what did he think they were going to do, take a walk in the park?

                No, they had everything they needed right here.

                Steve rolled over, almost bumping noses with Bucky and waking himself up.

                “Hey.” He murmured, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

                “Hey you.” Bucky replied, nuzzling their noses together. Steve leant in for a kiss, chaste and slow, before pulling back. He glanced towards the window and frowned.

                “I’d hoped it’d be sunny.” He said, a little sadly.

                “Me too. Weird, that, huh?” Bucky agreed, running a finger under Steve’s jaw to tilt his head to kiss him again.

                “I love you.” Bucky said.

                “I love you too.” Steve replied. “You know, if the rain holds off, I have an idea.”

                “What’s that?” Bucky asked intrigued.

                Steve leant across the bed to the bedside table, opening the top drawer. He rummaged for a few seconds, before revealing something shiny. He held it in the palm of his hand. A key.

                “My mam always said, always have the key to the roof.” Steve smiled. “I thought, maybe we could take the gramophone, listen to music, eat the last of the food. Watch the sunset if the weather holds.”

                Bucky closed Steve’s fingers over the key, holding his hand tight.

                “I’d love that. That sounds perfect.” Bucky said.

                “Think you’ll be able to carry it?” Steve asked.

                “If you managed to get it up here, I think I’ll cope. Hey!” He yelped as Steve pinched his arm.

                “Let’s get up and dressed. I want to see the city one last time.” Steve said softly. He kissed Bucky again, before swinging his legs over the side of the bed and pulling on his jeans. He padded through to the bathroom. Bucky watched him go, memorising the sway of his hips as he walked, the way his jeans fell slightly too low where they were just a little too big. Bucky didn’t believe he’d be able to miss anything after that night, but he felt a pang of loss all the same.

                Sighing, he shuffled off the bed, grabbing his jeans and a t-shirt that clung a little tight, before realising it was Steve’s. He thought about taking it off, but there was something comforting about wearing it. He scraped his hair back off his forehead, running his fingers through it in a vain attempt to detangle it, before wandering over to knock on the bathroom door.

                “It’s open!” Steve called through a mouthful of dry toothpaste. Bucky let himself in, and stood beside Steve as he brushed his teeth. Steve made faces at him in the mirror as they stood side by side, and Bucky couldn’t help but crack up laughing, dribbling toothpaste down his chin. Steve smiled, and wiped his face clean with a finger. He left Bucky in peace so he could use the toilet, going in search of food.

                Bucky came through to the living room to find Steve eating dry cereal, a bottle of water at his elbow, and a bowl and bottle laid out for Bucky.

                “Still living the high life, I see.” Bucky said, sitting down and hooking an ankle around Steve’s. Steve smiled back. In a lot of respects, it felt like any other day, only heightened. But Steve didn’t look scared. Bucky checked himself. He wasn’t scared. Not yet. He was sure that would come. Denial isn’t just a river in Egypt, after all.

                After they’d finished eating, and Steve had cleaned out Martha, complaining the whole time, Bucky took the liberty of picking out a selection of Steve’s vinyl to take to the roof with them, whilst Steve searched his room for blankets and pillows. He returned with a stack that reached his eyebrows, and Bucky helped him set them down on the table. Steve then made for the kitchen cupboards, scavenging any leftover food that hadn’t gone bad with the lack of electricity. He came up with packets of chips, M&Ms, chocolate bars, and a can of baked beans, which Bucky refused to entertain.

                Looking at everything they’d gathered, they agreed it’d take two trips, and it would probably be best to take the food and blankets first, so they’d be able to open the heavy roof door without too much effort.

                Steve locked his front door behind him just in case, and they traipsed up the stairs, Bucky pointing out his floor as they passed it. They finally reached the top floor, Steve wheezing slightly, and found the roof door opened easily. They stepped out into the cool of the morning, and Bucky realised he’d almost forgotten what it had been like to be outside, having been cooped up for so many days. His lungs filled with air, and he whooped despite himself, the sound carrying over the rooftops. It felt like he could see for miles around, this city, the place he’d been born, the place he’d left to fight a war overseas, the place he’d returned to under the most dire of circumstances. Home.

                He looked around the roof. Someone had at some point set out plastic patio furniture, but aside from that, it was empty apart from the television aerials. He set the blankets down on what was once a blue chair, now faded to an odd turquoise yellow colour. Steve placed the food down on the table, before walking up to the edge of the building. Bucky watched as he stood, his small frame backlit against the sun, before walking over and wrapping his arms around him.

                “I’ve got you.” Bucky said, standing firm and strong. Steve went lax in his hold, relaxing into him.

                “I know, Buck, I know.”

                They stood and stared at the city, beautiful still, silent for the first time either of them could ever recall, the streets empty. Neither of them would be able to tell you how long they just stood for, because it seemed like a lifetime and a minute all at once. Maybe it didn’t matter.


	26. Chapter 26

**ONE DAY BEFORE THE END OF THE WORLD**

                Huddled in blankets, nibbling a biscuit from the packet, Steve nestled between his spread legs, back to Bucky’s chest, Bucky leant against the door of the roof, letting the music of Amy Winehouse wash over him. The clouds were growing darker overhead, but neither of them could bring themselves to move. Steve fiddled with a frayed strand on the knee of his jeans, head leaning back onto Bucky’s chest.

                There was a time for words. This was not it.

                A blackbird flew over, then landed a few feet away. Bucky broke off a crumb of his biscuit and gently threw it for the bird. It hopped tentatively towards the scrap of food, pecked at it, and then flew off.

                Life continued, it seemed.

                Bucky wondered how many babies were being born today, how many birthdays were being celebrated, how many anniversaries. Hell, how many people were dying just because, because of illness or old age. How many normally significant things were happening, rendered less so because of sheer chance. He swallowed the last of the biscuit before pressing a kiss to Steve’s neck. Steve made a happy sound in the back of his throat.

                Bucky settled his arms around Steve’s waist, and Steve seemed to melt against him. Bucky looked up at the sky, urging the planets to align and give them one more day. It didn’t seem like too much to ask. He wondered how many people were doing the same.

                Steve sang along quietly to the gramophone, singing along to songs of lost love, heartbreak and drugs. Bucky rocked him gently in time to the music, Steve’s body pliant and willing. They’d turned up the volume as loud as they could, in case anyone wanted to listen. In case there was anyone who was alone, perhaps, who didn’t want to be. Bucky didn’t know if the sound reached the streets, but he hoped it did. It seemed silly to want to impact the world in such a small way now, and yet still he wanted to.

                The first raindrop fell just as the afternoon began to dim. At first, it was little more than a light shower, so they both huddled a little closer under the blankets, making hoods out of them, and watched the rain fall, bouncing off the surface of the roof. The clouds were darker now, almost threatening in their appearance, looming right overhead. It looked like a thunderstorm was brewing. _Of course_ , Bucky thought, _could it happen any other way_?

                When the rain began to fall more heavily, Bucky considered suggesting going inside, but couldn’t find the words. The gramophone stuttered to a halt and then stopped, the water soaking it. Steve held out an upturned hand to the rain, before wriggling out of Bucky’s grip and standing.

                Both their feet were bare, Bucky realised for the first time. He’d gotten so used to it he hadn’t even thought of it until now, until the rain was drip dropping on his toes. Steve stood, blankets shed, face upturned to the sky. He looked at Bucky, and nodded for him to stand too. Bucky shrugged off the blankets and stood, as the rain grew heavier still, soaking through his clothes as though he were naked. Steve returned his gaze to the sky, sticking his tongue out to catch the droplets. Bucky laughed and copied him. Steve looked over at him again, grinning, hair flattened to his head with water, and shook like a dog, before tugging Bucky towards him by his t-shirt. Bucky allowed himself to follow Steve’s lead, and Steve tiptoed up to kiss him, the rain drizzling down their faces, catching on their eyelashes, running into their mouths as they opened for each other. Bucky wrapped his fingers in the fabric above Steve’s shoulder blades, pulling him closer, closing his eyes and allowing himself to just drift with the sensations, of the hot warmth of Steve’s mouth, and the shocking cold of the rain on his skin. Steve’s hands found Bucky’s hips, holding him tight.

                Bucky had always secretly mocked the movies and the books that made it seem like making out in the rain was one of the most romantic things a couple could do. It couldn’t be, he’d wagered, being wet and uncomfortable, wanting to get inside where you could dry off. He scolded his past self, now, as he stood with Steve pressed against him. He got it now, that you could forget everything else and just be, in that moment, the elements and the person you love combining to create something so much greater than anything he’d ever experienced.

                The first roll of thunder caused him to jolt, almost biting Steve’s tongue, but Steve pulled him back into the kiss, not allowing him to panic, just keeping him grounded, keeping him in this moment, this ever stretching moment. He kept his eyes tight closed and let the sounds fade around him, focusing purely on Steve, on the way Steve felt against him, the way Steve’s tongue worked wonders against his own.

                The first crack of lightning finally caused Steve to pull away, reluctant, teeth dragging at Bucky’s bottom lip before letting it go.

                “We should go inside.” Steve said, eyes dark, voice husky, lips puffed red.

                “Should get you out of those wet clothes.” Bucky agreed. “Don’t want you to catch a cold.”

                Steve nodded, and grasped Bucky’s hand, pulling him towards the roof door. Bucky took a final look back, at their soaked blankets and food, at the skyline he’d learnt as a child that was etched onto his soul. Thunder rolled again, and he closed the door, allowing Steve to pull him down the stairs and back home.

                They shed their clothes haphazardly as soon as Steve had shut the door to the apartment. Steve’s mouth found his and they found the couch, unable to make it to the bedroom. Outside, the storm rolled on, inside, two bodies came together for the last time, drenched through to the skin, a final hallelujah, and Bucky finally understood what that song meant.


	27. Chapter 27

**ONE DAY UNTIL THE END OF THE WORLD**

                Steve had placed candles around the bedroom, their flickering light warming the darkness. Outside, the wind howled violently and the storm rumbled on. Steve, Bucky, Bucky Bear and Martha sat huddled on the bed. Bucky couldn’t help but glance at Steve’s alarm clock. It was supposed to happen around ten o’clock.

                It was half nine now.

                He wasn’t scared.

                Okay, that was a lie. He was scared. His heart beat fast in his chest and his mouth was dry.

                They were bundled up in their pyjamas, having joked that meeting the end of the world required a certain level of dignity, after all. Steve’s hair was fluffy, and Bucky’s borderline untameable, where they’d towelled it dry. They sat, knees bent in front of them, hands just touching by their sides. Martha was curled up under Bucky’s knees. Bucky Bear sat on his lap.

                “I wanted to be in the army when I was a kid.” Steve said out of nowhere. He looked beautiful in the candlelight. Bucky’s heart wrenched at the sight of it. This beautiful person, half an hour away from no longer existing. Steve looked at him, seeming to read his thoughts, and continued.

                “I wanted to be in the army. I tried to ask my mam to buy me toy guns, action figures, even clothes for dress up. But you know? She never would. She used to say I could do more good in the world through my words, through my art, than I could through violence. So I never pursued it. Not that they’d have taken me. I still got into more than my fair share of fights though. Black eyes every other week because someone had said something I didn’t like, or I’d said something they didn’t like. My mam, she used to just tut and clean me up, telling me, Stevie Rogers, you’re better than this. But I always thought, it’s what you fight for, isn’t it? If it’s something you believe in, it’s worth it, right?”

                Bucky thought for a moment. He’d joined the army because that was what his family _did_. He’d had the grades to go to college, he’d even tried a semester or two, but in the end he’d ended up walking in the worn footprints of his father and grandfather.

                “I was a sniper.” He said. “I don’t know, I guess I just had a gift for it. I protected my team. That was my job. It wasn’t glamourous. I killed people. I killed more people than I’d like to count. And I was damn good at it. But I kept my people safe. We got lucky, we all got out of there alive. Nobody I knew ever died. I was always – I guess, I was always behind the trigger rather than in front of it. I was the weapon, I guess. There were a few close shaves, times that probably gave me a few grey hairs, but we were lucky. I wouldn’t say we were better than any other squad out there. Just lucky. It all comes down to luck in the end.”

                He stroked Steve’s hair, letting his fingers brush down Steve’s cheek.

                “I tried not to think about it. The people I saw down the scope. They were an abstract. If I thought about it, I’d never be able to stop, you know? So I did my job. When I signed up, I honestly thought I was doing the right thing. I’d been raised to believe that I should serve my country, that freedom was something that demanded protection. And it does. But the cost is really damn high sometimes. I think too high. If I could do it all again, I don’t know. Maybe I’d have stuck college out. Or been a mechanic or something. I was always good with my hands. Fixing things. I could do that.”

                He resisted the urge to glance at the clock. He didn’t need to see the red numbers.

                Outside, the world rumbled.

                “I think you’re brave. I don’t think there are many people who could do what you did. And I’m glad you were lucky. I’m glad you made it home.” Steve said. He brought his fingers up to tilt Bucky’s mouth to his.  “I think you’re brave. Handsome. Beautiful. And mine.” He punctuated every sentence with a kiss.

                “I like being yours.” Bucky smiled. “I’ll always be yours.”

                “I love you so much, Buck.” Steve whispered against Bucky’s lips.

                “I love you too. What I’d give to wake up tomorrow and know that we could just have this, forever. You don’t know. Everything. I’d give it all. You name it.” Bucky said, words catching in his throat.

                “Hey, Buck. Stiff upper lip. We’ve made it this far. No last minute wobbles.” Steve said, pressing a kiss to Bucky’s jaw. Steve could see the clock from his position. Bucky resisted the urge to turn and look.

                The world rumbled again. The rain was so heavy now.

                “I wish I’d met you sooner.” Bucky tried.

                “Would you have still been you and me still me?” Steve asked. “I think we needed it to be now.”

                The building shook. Bucky bit back a sob.

                “I’m scared, Stevie. So scared. I don’t want – I don’t want it to hurt.”

                “Ssh, it’s okay. I’m here. Nothing’s going to happen. Just close your eyes. Listen to my voice.”

                Bucky let his eyes slide shut. Steve pressed another kiss to his jaw before speaking.

                “Tomorrow, we’re going to wake up. You’re going to complain that it’s too damn early, and I’m going to make you pancakes to coax you out of bed. We’ll eat, and then we’ll share a shower, where you’ll make sure I’m perfectly clean, before dirtying me up again. In the afternoon, you’ll watch cartoons whilst I sketch. After a while, I’ll come and collapse on top of you, my head in your lap, and you’ll stroke my hair and we’ll watch your dumb cartoons together until we get hungry again. We’ll order Chinese, or pizza, and we’ll eat it up the table, because we’re grownups. You’ll try to feed Chow Mein to Martha, and I’ll stop you, because Chow Mein isn’t for cats. We’ll go to bed, and you’ll take me apart with just your hands and your mouth, and I’ll return the favour, because I’m a gentleman. And then we’ll talk, making plans for the next day, and the next, and the next. And that’s how it’ll be. Every night, until one night, you come home, having gotten a job, or gone back to college, and you’ll find me on one knee, a ring box in my hand. You’ll cry. I’ll cry. We’ll have our wedding in the spring. Your sister will be there, my friends will be there, your friends, Mrs Wilson even. You’ll drag me onto the dance floor and we’ll dance all night, and I won’t let anyone steal a dance from you, because you’ll be all mine. And that’ll be our lives, Buck, every day, forever after, because –  ”

                A loud crash and the window blew out, glass shattering everywhere. Bucky’s instincts went into overdrive and he threw the pair of them off the bed, landing hard on the wooden floor.

                “Fuck, fuck, Steve. Steve.” He gasped, covering the other man with his body. 

                The world went white.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaand you can stop reading here, or click through to the next chapter for an alternate, happier, ending.
> 
> and you can find me on tumblr at rebeltopgunpilot.tumblr.com if you want idk man do what makes you happy.


	28. Chapter 28

**THE DAY AFTER THE NEAR MISS**

                Bucky woke up.

                Huh.

                The room was cold, and his skin was wet. Around him lay shards of glass. Glass everywhere. Beneath him lay Steve, and for one cruel moment, it seemed Steve wasn’t breathing. But no, there was the gusty sound of Steve’s snore.

                Bucky laughed. He couldn’t help it.

                Ninety eight per cent chance.

                He thought back to their conversation last night. About his squad. About never losing a man. About being lucky.

                Lucky.

                Fucking lucky.

                Nobody ever mentions the two per cent when the odds are stacked against you, not unless they’re really grasping for hope.

                Bucky had never expected a reprieve.

                He eased himself off Steve, his head pounding. Without waking the blond, he padded through to the living room and switched on the television, not expecting it to actually work, but it flared into life.

                _“ – after an astonishing near miss event, the majority of the meteor was burnt up within Earth’s atmosphere, causing only minor satellite damage and several broken windows from the shock wave. People are calling it a miracle. There’re parties in the streets, I never thought – I never thought I’d be able to speak to you again, to report on this. But I can bring you this breaking news: the world didn’t end. We’re now heading over to our science correspondent, who’s going to explain in more detail.”_

                Bucky felt a hand on his shoulder. He looked up. Steve. Steve smiled down at him, before settling on the couch so his head rested in Bucky’s lap. Bucky’s hand stroked the blond’s hair gently.

                “You made a lot of promises last night.” Bucky found his voice. “About the future.”

                “Yeah.” Steve smiled up at him.

                “You mean them?” Bucky asked.

                “Every word.” Steve promised. He caught Bucky’s hand and held it tight. “Guess we got our second chance.”

                Bucky’s heart swelled, seemed too big for his chest. He held Steve’s hand like a lifeline. Suddenly, the future didn’t seem contained. It seemed huge, stretching forwards into forever. And he couldn’t wait to meet it.

                “What do we do now, punk?” Bucky asked, in wonder.

                “We’ll figure it out. We’ve got all the time in the world.” Steve replied. Bucky squeezed Steve’s hand. Steve squeezed back.

                _All the time in the world._

                “You’re crying.” Steve said gently.

                “Happy tears.” Bucky sniffled.

                “I love you. You’re never going to get rid of me, you know.” Steve said, raising their joined hands to wipe Bucky’s tears away.

                “I’d never want to. I love you.”

                “Good.” Steve smiled.

                They lapsed into silence, watching the television as the news reeled at the fact the world was still turning. They would figure it out. All the good things would come. It all came down to luck.

                Martha padded through, looking at her pet humans with loving disdain. _As if she’d have let anything happen to them._  


End file.
